Bitten by Fate
by flaminglake
Summary: Alternate Universe: Araluen is home to magic, elves, vampires, werewolves etc. Will, a werewolf of fifteen, is apprenticed to Halt to learn the ranger corps ways.
1. Chapter 1

**Bitten by Fate**

**Chapter one**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Rangers Apprentice **

**AN: This will be extremely AU and probably contain some OOCness though I will try my best. Uh, it will also be weird? I just wanted to write something like this for fun. It's for my own entertainment, rather than anyone elses. **

**Anyway, this is the prologue of the first in what will be a trilogy. Uuuuum, I just thought I would upload it. **

Maria Darling, the woman who ran Redmont's ward, was humming softly as she pushed open the door to the ward, her arms full of grocery bags. She unpacked everything in the kitchen, arranging it carefully in the right spots. One of her assistants always put things in the wrong shelves and she clicked her tongue at the unorganised mess. When it was all back in it's proper place, she decided to go check on the wards in year seven.

These particular wards were often a troublespot for her. The girls were fine, they often helped her around the ward. It was the boys, two of them, Will and Horace, that were constantly fighting and she always worried they would hurt each other.

There was a nine o clock curfew in the ward that meant everyone had to be in their dormitories at that time. Maria made her way to the boys dormitary, pushing her way past some of the older boys, mentally ticking them off in her head. She spotted the other year seven boy, George Carter, sitting upright on a chair by the window.

"Where are Will and Horace?" she asked him. George started at her voice. He gaped up at her for a moment before answering.

"Horace is in his room," he said.

"And Will?" Maria asked, pushing aside her nagging worries, telling herself it was nothing.

"He's..." George's voice trailed of.

"Where is he?" Maria asked with steel in her voice.

"In the forest," George whispered.

Maria's eyes widened in horror. "The forest?" she repeated, her voice hoarse. The other boys had queited down, attracted to a possible dramatic scene.

"Horace dared him to," George said. "We all tried to stop him,"

"But how did he get out?" Maria asked. She had locked the front door when she left. There was no way for him to leave the ward. "Is this some kind of joke?" she asked suspisciously.

"No," George wouldn't meet her eye. "He climbed through the window."

She remembered about Will's climbing skills. It wouldn't be the first time he had used those skills to break her rules.

"And where is Horace?" she asked urgently.

"In his room," George told her.

"Make sure he stays there," Maria said, turning on her heel and running down the stairs. She threw on a pair of practical looking boots- they belonged to one of the older boys but she couldn't go to the forest in her heels; donned her jacket and left the dorm.

The full moon hung like an orb in the sky. Maria shivered, certain the silvery light held Dark horrors. It tingled on her skin, reminding her that the Dark held power over Araluen on nights like these. Too late, she remembered she had forgotten to bring a torch. Maria didn't turn back. Her parental instincts were too strong, though Will was not her own son.

It had been the reason she was chosen to run the ward in the first place. Maria was unable to have her own children and as such, felt attatched to every child she met. Besides that, what decent human being could allow an innocent child to be alone in the forest at this time of night.

She burst through the trees, ignoring the rapid beating of her own heart. "Will?" Maria called. "Will, come here right now!"

Then she saw him. Not straight away. At first, her eyes were attracted to the massive, shadowy shape looming over the pale child. She couldn't see clearly what it was. Only that it rippled with powerful muscles, turning to her, brilliant green eyes fixing on her face.

Maria sank to the ground, moaning with fear. Will was unconscious, his skin luminous white except for the red wound on his arm.

The Dark creature, which could only be a werewolf, took a step towards her. Maria found herself unable to look away from the captivating eyes. Flecks of green in the dark. Glowing. Threatening. Blazing death.

Then an arrow hissed through the air, slamming into the werewolf's side with a meaty smack. It grunted, ignoring Maria to face the new challenger. Another arrow. Another hit. But the werewolf's thick fur prevented a killing wound. Even so, somewhere in the haze of it's killing rage, it knew it was in trouble. With a furious roar, it took off into the night. Several more arrows hissed after it, glancing off trees.

A man appeared, riding on a shaggy horse, a massive longbow in his hands.

"Damn," he said quietly. He put the arrow, already nocked on the string, back into his quiver and slung the bow over his shoulders. Dismounting, he helped Maria up before moving over to Will.

"Sir Ranger," Maria gasped. She knew the man of course, everyone did. Halt the ranger of Redmont, said to be a magical being. She rubbed the arm he had touched to help her up. Maria had always been afraid of Halt. Most people were. The ranger corps was said to be made up of magical creatures, leaving their homes in the obscure forests to live in civilisation.

People were afraid of those that were magical. Even the ones that everyone knew belonged to the Light stayed hidden from the Araluen people. The Ranger Corps were said to break those rules.

Yet Halt had just saved her life, as well as Wills. And he stood with her now, slightly shorter than she, appearing to be a completely normal man with a bad haircut. Perhaps the rumours were not true?

"If you've finished staring, you might want to help," Halt said, crouching down beside Will.

"Oh! Oh, of course!" Maria hurried over. "We must get him back to the Ward at once!"

Halt laid a calming hand on hers. "Ma'am, that was no ordinary wolf," he said carefully. Maria stared at him through moistening eyes.

"I know that," she said, looking down at the blood on Will's arm. "Oh, I know."

Halt lifted the young boy easily onto his horse. "I'll give you a ride home," he said. "There are some things we need to talk about."

**And that's the end of the prologue. I have so many ideas for this story, I will definitely finish it. But if you lot think it's too weird or just plain don't like it I'll finish it slower. **

**Like I said, it's for my own entertainment. I had this idea for many years, slowly developing, but always hesitated to write it. Oh well, if you like: I'm happy! If you don't: don't read. **

**So review for good or bad. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**I wanted to update this, so I didn't have just a lonely prologue. I'll hopefully update 'Into the Wild' soon :)**

Will, fifteen years of age, crouched at the top of a tall oak tree just outside the ward. Below him, he spotted his childhood friend Alyss looking around.

"Will?" She would call every few minutes. Will didn't climb down. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her, not at all. She was a dear friend of his and he valued her company. But right now, he couldn't bring himself to face her trusting eyes, so he was relieved when the graceful girl finally decided to give up.

He watched her slim, upright figure disappear into the ward and sighed. Alyss didn't know. Neither did Horace or Jenny or George. None of them knew Will's shameful secret. Only Maria knew, and her face paled just by looking at him. She wouldn't touch the boy, her hands searching for anything to fiddle with whenever he got close.

It wasn't the same with the others. Choosing day was coming up and Maria was full of hugs and kisses and smiles for the others. She exchanged recipes with Jenny, flattered Horace, read books with George and spent long hours having discussions with Alyss. With Will, she did nothing.

He didn't blame her for it. In her position, he might well be the same. A werewolf was not something anyone wanted to be close to.

And that was the heart of Will's misery on this hazy autumn evening. His future was uncertain. No one wanted to hire a werewolf. Sure, the craftmasters didn't know yet, but how was he to avoid them finding out? To disappear every full moon wasn't exactly subtle.

A shiver travelled up his spine. The full moon. It was tonight. For the first time- because werewolves didn't change until they were fifteen years of age, according to Maria- he would transform.

A chill wind rustled the flame coloured leaves, as if to accent his feelings. Will edged down a little way where there was a convenient fork to wedge his body in. He wrapped his arms around himself. Maria would be getting worried. He had to be deep in the forest before midnight.

"Will?" Maria came out of the ward, looking around. Will made no effort to hide himself. He'd noticed over the years that people seldom looked up, even though they knew how much he enjoyed climbing. "Has anyone seen Will?"

"He's probably slinking and hiding somewhere." It was Horace, voice full of scorn. Will's face reddened. The bigger boy might as well be calling him a coward. He snapped a twig off a nearby branch and chucked it at his rival.

Horace scowled up at him. A purple lump was forming on his forehead. "You'll pay for that Will No-name!" he yelled. Maria let out a shreik of horror and knelt down to gently feel the bruise on Horace's face.

"Will! You could have damaged his head," she scolded.

"It's already damaged, so it doesn't matter," Will replied, swinging smoothly down from the tree.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Horace snapped, a reddish hue growing on his cheeks.

"Oh, nothing," Will shrugged. "You're looking awfully colourful there. Red and purple all over."

"Shut up!" Horace yelled. "At least I have a name!" A weak comeback, but one that stung Will right to the core. The smaller boy flinched and instantly regretted it. He saw the triumph that decorated Horace's face.

"Hush, the both of you," Maria said, giving Horace a gentle push inside. "I need to get medicine for you bruise," she declared. "Come with me Will, as your punishment."

Will caught her eye. They weren't getting medicine. Maria was giving him an excuse to get to the forest without anyone knowing.

He took a long look up at the ward building. Jenny was standing near an open window, her figure a silhouette against the burning kitchen lights. Inside with her, it was warm and safe and loving. Outside, to the forest where he was going, it was a world of cruel darkness.

"Come along Will," Maria said softly. He trudged after her. The orange streaked sky glowed above them, sapping the last of day from Redmont to give way for the full moon. Miserably, Will followed Maria to get medicine for Horace.

"This should do," she said, tucking it away in her bag. Instead of returning straight to the ward, she headed for the outskirts. Was she going to accompany Will to the forest? He hadn't expected her to.

"Maria?" he looked up at her. "Will you come with me to the forest?"

"Oh, Will, sweetheart," Maria sighed. "I can't, it's too dangerous. We've already talked about this."

He dropped his gaze to the ground. Maria bent down to kiss his cheek.

"You won't be on your own," she assured him. "The Ranger agreed to accompany you to the forest."

That was, quite possibly, worse than being on his own. Will didn't know much about rangers and Halt had always seemed a grim, mysterious figure from what he'd seen over the years.

"Chin up, it's not so bad," Maria forced a smile, a feeble attempt at making the boy feel better. Like always, when they were thinking about werewolves, her hands twisted around each other at her chest nervously. Will pretended he hadn't noticed.

A mounted figure was waiting for them at the outskirts of the forest. Will recognised the deep cowl of the mottled grey green rangers cloak and the trademark shaggy horse that he rode. Halt. The bearded face was hidden under shadow and Will shivered involuntarily.

"Good evening, Sir Ranger," Maria curtseyed politely. She gave Will a small shove in the ranger's direction. He stumbled, looking up at cold dark eyes.

"Well, we should get going," Halt said. A massive longbow was strung and held loosely in his hands. Will glanced at Maria. It was common knowledge that rangers were supposed to deal with beings of dark magic. Was Halt really on his side?

"Have a nice night, Will," Maria said. He could have laughed aloud if he'd been in more cheery spirits. Have a nice night indeed!

Will watched her leave with mournful eyes. Her round figure disappeared from sight and he was alone, in fading light, with the ranger. He glanced up at Halt, who regarded him evenly.

"Mount up behind me," the ranger instructed. "We'll travel faster that way. I want to be deep in the forest long before the moon comes up."

Will hesitated, than climbed clumsily up behind the ranger. An iron strong hand seized the back of his collar to pull him up. The boy settled himself on the back of the saddle, gripping the sides of it so he didn't fall off. He didn't think Halt would appreciate him holding on to the ranger and Will had never ridden a horse before. Ward children didn't often get the chance.

The rode at a steady canter into the forest. The trees rose dark and looming on every side of them. Will glanced up at the sky. The patches he could see through the canopy were a dark grey.

"Halt?" Will asked uncertainly after a while. He never could hold in his questions for long. Halt made a small grunting noise.

"How far are we going into the forest?"

"Not too far."

An unhelpful answer. Will shifted uncomfortably on the horse. Another question occurred to him and, before he could stop himself, he had to ask. "Does this horse have a name?"

Halt vented an impatient sigh. "No, I call him Horse and when I want him to come to me, I yell, come here Horse, and when I first got him, I was told, this here is Horse. Of course he has a name."

There was a slight pause and Will, when he had determined that nothing further was following Halt's words, asked rather tentatively, "what is it?"

"He's a horse," Halt replied immediately. There was no trace of humour in his words.

Miffed, Will decided then to stop asking questions.

They stopped in a clearing and Halt ordered him to dismount. Will dropped from the horse, who's name he still didn't know, and found himself a comfortable place to sit and wait for the full moon. Halt sat beside him, regarding him with dark eyes.

"Will it hurt?" the boy burst out with the question before he could stop himself.

"Yes," this time, Halt answered his question with no impatient grumbling. "But it will be over soon and you'll wake up back in your bed, safe."

"You're going to stay with me?" Will asked, not sure if he was entirely pleased about that or not.

"I'll stay at a distance," Halt replied. "I'll keep you under control and bring you home when it's over." His fingers drummed against the smooth curve of his bow as he spoke. Will wondered what 'keep you under control' meant.

They sat in silence as the evening dragged into night. A tingling sensation started to envelop Will's body. He rubbed at his arms, trying to expell the feeling. Halt stood, stretching stiff muscles from sitting for too long.

"Take off your clothes, unless you want them to be ruined," he instructed, with a glance at the globe of sinister light that was the moon. Will undressed obediantly, trembling in the cold. He folded his clothes by the base of a tree.

A dull throbbing ache was travelling up his body, starting from his toes and spreading all over. He wrapped his arms around himself, groaning softly as the pain increased. Halt took a long, thoughtful look at him, then mounted his horse and trotted between the trees.

Will barely noticed the ranger's absence. He rocked back and forth on his toes, a muted, animal growl rising in his throat. His muscles throbbed and pulsed with every breath of the forest, stretching to their very limit.

Then the world closed in around him in a blur of colour bursting to black as he lost consciousness.

…...

Horace heard the werewolf's howl from inside the ward. He shot straight out of his blankets, just managing to hold onto the bed before he fell off. His breath misted in the chill air and he lit a lantern, cupping his hands around the flame.

None of the other boys had stirred. Horace sighed, stretching his long limbs. Usually, at this late hour, he too would be deep in the realm of sleep. However, tonight was one of his bad nights, where his thoughts twisted around his head in one big mess.

The main thought that was keeping him awake was that of his parents. Horace remembered his parent vaguelly- a large hand, a gentle smile, the tickle of hair. He had fragments of early childhood memories; long tendrils of grass towering above him, the fresh sting of wind, a muffled odour of cows.

Horace dropped his head back on his pillow. All that had been taken from him. His parents were killed in the war against the dark that took place in Hackham heath. Killed by werewolves and vampires, sorcerors and ogres, all ruled by Lord Morgarath.

His family had been stolen, and, as he often did on the night of a full moon, listening to the howls and roars of the thriving forest, Horace swore to himself that he would kill all the dark creatures in Araluen. Every vampire, orgre, wargal, sorceror and werewolf.

Every single one.

**Ahem, I couldn't resist the Horse part...It just came into my head and stood it's ground. **

**Anyway, please, please review! It would really mean a lot to me to hear what you're thinking. The bad and the good. **

**You'd really make my day, if I come back from my maths test tomorrow (omg, I've fogotten how to spell, was that right?) and find comfort in a review. And if you could tell me how to solve logarithms that'd be nice...? Lol, just joking. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed. If I didn't reply, it doesn't mean I don't appreciate it.**

**Chapter 3**

Thud, thud, thud. His head was pounding, over and over, thudding in a rythmic beat. Every muscle, every fibre of his body ached, in a collaborative effort to torture him. He could hear his own breathing in his ears, raggid with a harsh edge.

"You're awake." A voice, deep like a pool of infinate black washed over him. Something cool, probably a washcloth, was placed on his forehead. Where was he? What was going on?

"How do you feel?"

Will groaned in reply. He didn't trust himself to talk.

"I'll take that as not so good." Ah, yes, he remembered. The Ranger. He tried to think past his splitting headache. They'd gone into the forest, Will had taken his clothes off to transform, then a blinding pain. The rest was blurred, dangled just in front of his mind's vision. He thought he recalled looking down at brown paws and a brief sense of exiliration, then fury. There were hazy images in his mind, one of the forest, one of a rabbit, one of Halt. But they were all different to how he saw things usually, kind of darker, as if they were memories and images that belonged to a different person.

"Well, you rest for a bit. I'll be back later, I have some things to do. I'll tell that ward lady you're fine."

Will coughed. Wait, he tried to say, but it came out as a splutter. He waved his hand in the ranger's general direction and, with a great effort, cracked open one eye. Glaring light flashed at him and he grimanced, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'll close the curtains," Halt offered. He must have paused when Will coughed. The boy hadn't been sure if he had left or not, it was hard to tell with the ranger who could come and go as silently as he pleased.

"I don't really like the light either," the ranger said, almost conversationally, as he drew the curtains shut. "There, you can open your eyes now."

Will found it was much easier to keep his eyes open in the gloom. He tried to talk, but his words dissolved into a coughing fit. Halt waited patiently until he had regained himself.

"I like the light," Will wheezed. "Just not now."

"Sure, most people do," Halt shrugged. For a moment, he looked like there was more to say on the matter, then the moment passed. "Do you want anything? A cup of coffee?"

"No," Will shook his head. He shivered at the frown that creased the ranger's face and wondered if he'd said something to anger him. Maybe because he has turned down Halt's offer? After all, he couldn't imagine the ranger offering a lot for people.

"Thank you," Will said, for good measure. Halt shrugged.

"Well, you have good manners at least." he said, waving the thanks aside. "I have to go up to the Castle, stay here and rest. I'll be back before evening, there are some things you and I need to talk about."

Will nodded. He sank back against the pillows, his eyes sliding shut. Though his naturally inquisitive mind wondered what the 'things you and I need to talk about' were, even the brief talk with Halt had worn him out and he drifted into sleep.

It was afternoon when he woke. Feeling much stronger, Will sat up, pushing the blankets off of him. He was in a small room, with a single bed, a wadrobe, a desk and a cupboard. It looked unused, no like a home at all. A spare room?

Of course, Ranger Halt wouldn't want a mere ward boy in his personal rooms. Will was suddenly compelled to sneak through the house and have a look to see if there was anything embarrassing in Halt's room. He swallowed the urge, since Halt was, after all, letting him stay.

Will glanced down at himself. He was covered in long scratches, but there was nothing life threatening. Just painful. Where had they come from? Had he inflicted them on himself in his wolf state, or had Halt harmed him to control him?

He sighed deeply and buried his head in his hands. Why him? Why was he the one to be bitten? Just think, his parents would be looking down on him now, frowning, hating their only son for what he had become. Tears burned in his eyes. He would not cry, he would force them back. A werewolf didn't deserve the relief of crying.

There was nothing to do and he dozed back into sleep. Muddled dreams filled his mind, of his wardmates, of Alyss's smile, of a starry sky past the fringes of trees and he woke to the metallic taste of blood. At first, it scared him, before he realised he'd bitten through his cheek.

Even though his whole body ached, he couldn't stand to lie in the bed and do nothing. He wanted to see Alyss, or Jenny or George (Alyss most of all, though he didn't dwell on that much). It was the choosing day, he remembered. What bad luck that the full moon had fallen on the night before.

"Well, as long as the others get what they want," Will murmured to himself. It was pretty much guarranteed, he thought. Lady Pauline had already spoken to Alyss, Jenny and George were naturals in their professions and Horace had all the qualities Sir Rodney looked for in his trainees. Will was the only one who would never be able to get into the path he desired. Because he was a werewolf.

But at the same time, that was the reason he wanted so desperately to be chosen into battleschool with Horace. There was a chance, he felt, that if he could become a noble knight, battling against the Darkness, his parents could look down on him and forgive his werewolfism.

Will slipped out of the bed and padded across the room. He thought he could hear Halt talking to someone- another man- and paused, his ear pressed against the door. The noise was muted and he couldn't make out the words.

The door creaked open and Will jumped back in shock. He hadn't heard the ranger approaching and now Halt stood barely a metre from him, the hood of his cloak pushed back from his head. Will recovered himself and glanced past Halt to see who he was talking to. There was no one else in the room, only a small blue bird perched on the table top. It cocked it's head at Will's entry and chirped a friendly greeting.

"I didn't know you had a bird," Will said. It was the first thing that came to mind. The bird chirped again and he might have imagined the indignant tone and the way it hopped up and down in protest.

"I don't," Halt said shortly. "You're looking as well as you can be expected to."

Will hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The bird fluttered over to Halt and nibbled at his ear, much to the grizzled ranger's annoyance.

"Go away you," he waved at it. The bird gave him an offended look. He sighed.

"Alright, boy, we need to talk," Halt said, moving aside for Will to walk into the main room. "Have a seat."

The boy perched on the edge of a dining chair. Halt sat opposite him, face grim and serious. The bird settled on the back of his chair.

"I'm going to be frank with you," Halt said, linking his fingers together on the table in front of him. "Very few of the craftmasters will accept a werewolf as an apprentice and even if you do not tell them, they will certainly figure it out when you disappear every full moon."

Will stared down at his lap. He knew all that, the ranger didn't need to tell him.

"However, I will accept you as my apprentice."

Will couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips. He stared up at the ranger in total shock. Halt met his gaze, unpertubed by the reaction. The bird appeared to be studying him as well.

"Y-your apprentice?" Will managed to repeat. He regretted it when he saw Halt's furrowed brow.

"That's what I said. Why don't you ask a useful question?" The bird pecked at the ranger's ears and Halt swore at it, batting it away. It squaked as it lost it's balance on the chair and fluttered onto the table.

"I'm sorry," Will muttered. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being apprenticed to Halt at all. The grizzled ranger seemed so easy to anger. But what other choice did he have?

"You can have some time to think on it." Halt rubbed his ear, glowering at the bird.

Halt never smiled, he was always grumpy and everyone knew the ranger corps were a group of magical beings, banded together to protect Araluen. There was not one of them that was a human being, Will knew. He wondered what Halt was- the ranger appeared human enough.

It must be something of the Light, Will decided. All of the Dark creatures were allied with the lord of rain and night, Morgarath. He clenched his palm, digging his nails into the soft skin. Wasn't a werewolf a creature of the Dark? That was why he had even less chance of an apprenticeship as someone of the Light.

Because the Light beings too were feared in Araluen. Normal people avoided the Light, they were wary of it, even though they would come to those magical creatures to protect them in times of war. And it was the Light's fault, Will had been taught, because the Light creatures stayed in their deserted forests, hidden in the wild in their own colonies, stealing when it suited them and never answering to the king.

Except for the Ranger corps. They were the magical beings that fought for Araluen, though they were untrusted and feared.

And now Will could become one of them. Did he really want that? Would his parents be ashamed of him for it? 

"Like I said, think on it." Halt was regarding him with a stoic expression. "If it helps, I can assure you the ranger corps would accept you and your werewolfism. We are a society of magic, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, I know that." Will's voice came out in a hoarse croak. The bird nudged his fingertips, fluttering it's bright feathers.

"What's it's name?" the boy asked, more to fill the silence than any other reason.

"What is it with you and names?" Halt rolled his eyes. "First my horse, now the bird."

"Sorry," Will muttered. The bird chirped and hopped onto his shoulder, as if taking Will's side. "I was just wondering, is all."

Halt raised his eyebrows. "Of all the things you could be wondering after your first transformation, that one was the most important, was it?" He sighed, like he'd just reminded himself of Will's condition. "Well, if you must know. His name is Crowley."

"That's a strange name for a bird," Will mused.

"Indeed," Halt muttered and Will suddenly got the sense that he was missing something.

There was a pause. The bird glanced from Halt to Will, as if it was considering something, then gave Halt a friendly peck on the nose- after which the grizzled ranger scowled darkly- and bobbed it's head in Will's direction. It flew out the window and disappeared up into the sky.

There was definitely something strange about that bird, Will thought. It had seemed to have almost human mannerisms. He glanced back at Halt. He'd always assumed, with the knowledge that the ranger corps were all magical, that Halt was an elf of some kind. But with his hood down, it became evident that his ears weren't pointed.

Still, the ranger had let him stay after his transformation. And instinctively, Will trusted him.

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll be your apprentice."

Halt nodded curtly. "The room you were in before, that will be yours. You have tommorrow to go back to the ward and get your things, if you've recovered by then. Chew on these, they should help." He held out a piece of cloth wrapped in a bundle. Will unwrapped it and saw green leaves.

"They're Elfgreen leaves," Halt explained. "They have strong healing properties."

"Thank you sir," Will popped on into his mouth. He screwed up his face. It was bitter.

"Taste foul, don't they boy?" Halt saw the expression. "I don't like them either. And there's no need to call me sir, my name is Halt."

"Alright then. Thank you...Halt," Will revised. The elfgreen leaves were helping already. The ache in his limbs was fading away and he felt lighter.

Apprenticed to Ranger Halt...who would have thought it?

…...

The following day, he returned to his ward to pack his things. He didn't own much, just clothes and basic necessities like a hairbrush- not that he brushed his tussled hair often. He did have the note, box and blanket that he'd come with when he was found outside the ward, and a leather bound book on magical creatures. It had been a birthday present- Maria, Alyss, Jenny and George had all put in some money for it.

He'd known even then that Maria was behind the idea of the gift, and that there was a reason for it. His werewolfism of course. There were three whole pages on werewolves, one about how evil they were and a recount of a werewolf attack. Will had torn that page out and it was still crumpled under his bed to this day.

"Will." He glanced up to see Maria in the doorway. She was wringing her hands. He put the book in his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder.

"You're apprenticed to Ranger Halt I see," she said. Will stared up at her for a moment.

"You don't look surprised," he said.

Maria sighed. "Well, he has been...watching you over the years."

Trying to make sure Will didn't kill anyone, the boy imagined. So why did he want Will for an apprentice? Why would he want to be anywhere near a werewolf?

"Goodbye, Maria," Will said, quietly. She would be happy now. She wouldn't have to look after a werewolf. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes.

"Will..." she hesitated, regarding him with a somewhat mournful expression. For a moment, he thought she would say something further, then she shrugged, almost to herself. "Alyss is downstairs," she said. "She came to say goodbye."

Will nodded. He went down the stairs, all too aware it might be the last time he did so. Alyss was seated at the table and she rose when Will joined her.

"Will," she greeted him, taking his hands in her own. She didn't know those same hands had been clawed wolf paws the night of the full moon.

"Hey, Alyss," Will smiled at her. She smiled back.

"Where were you? You disappeared." Her grey eyes searched his face for an answer.

"I was...talking to ranger Halt," Will shrugged, trying to act like that was a completely ordinary event. "He wanted me for an apprentice." It wasn't a lie, he was being honest. Alyss nodded.

"So you didn't have to attend the choosing. But you've never wanted to be a ranger, have you?" she frowned. "Anyway, aren't they all magical?"

"Ah, well no, I didn't want to be a ranger." But who else would accept him? "I changed my mind after meeting Halt. And yes, most rangers are magical. Not all of them though." Well, that might be a lie, and it might not. He didn't know whether Halt was magical or not. He was starting to doubt it though.

"Okay, well, if you're happy," Alyss touched his cheek lightly, some unfathomable emotion lingering in her eyes.

"What about you?" Will quickly changed the subject. "Are you apprenticed to Lady Pauline?"

"I am," Alyss smiled. "She let me come here, but this afternoon I have a feeling I will be plunged into training."

"I'd better leave you to it then," Will said. "Bye."

"Yes, goodbye. I'll see you around." Alyss released his hands. He watched her slim figure disappearing, before hitching his bag further over his shoulder and starting the walk back to Halt's cabin.

**Oh, that was actually quite a long chapter for me, I think. I wasn't gonna stick in the bit in the end, but I wanted to. **

**Eheh, so there's a hint to what kind of magical creature ol' Crowls is. Lol, of course he was gonna have at least a small part in this story, he's my favourite character after Halt. It goes Halt, Crowley, Pauline (as she is in my daydreams not the books lol and if I'm judging by daydreams I can throw in Sandra, baron aralds wife. I think I'm weird, am I weird?) then Gilan though he's not in my daydreams, and then everyone else. Oddly enough, Will, Alyss and Horace are right down the bottom of my list. The main characters always are lol. To anyone who read through all the blabber- have you nothing better to do? I'm joking! I'm joking! **

**There's nothing more inspiring to a writer than opening up mail and finding a review waiting, it always makes me want to write more. *hint hint***


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm skipping over the majority of wills training here, cause I mean, you guys all know about archery and double knives, unseen movement and such, and I don't want to waste time trying to make him learning about them different to the real books. Therefore, this chapter is kind of a summary if you like, of the first three months of Will's training. **

**By the way, I'm very sorry I haven't been updating. I've been working on an original novel that I was close to finishing...(I'm gonna try get it published, but am prepared for rejection) Anyway, that's why but also I'm kinda stuck on 'Into the Wild.' This ones funner for me to write anyway.**

**Chapter 4**

_Ranger Corps: A group of magical beings that, unlike most magical creatures, have chosen to leave their secluded wild homes and fight to protect Araluen. _

_Note one: The ranger corps was founded in King Herbet's was never prejudiced towards magic like his successors and wanted to bring the magical creatures together as they would be a valuable asset to his army. _

_Note two: the ranger corps was weak at that time, and only later under the insistence of two young rangers did it reband. _

_Note three: Magical creatures in the ranger corps are creatures of the light_

"That's not quite right."

Will jumped in his seat, dropping the quill he had been using to scratch notes in the back of his magical creatures book. Halt was leaning over his shoulder- had been there for some time without the boy noticing.

"I'm sorry?" Will asked, glancing to his mentor to the notes.

"That one," Halt pointed to note three. "That's not right. There are some highly skilled ranger's who could be qualified as 'dark creatures'. I myself don't believe 'light' and 'dark' are appropriate terms."

It had been almost three weeks since Will became Halt's apprentice and in all that time, the grizzled ranger had consistantly manage to surprise him, with both the things he said and his silent movement.

"Why not?" Will asked, frowning.

Halt shrugged. He pulled a stool from the table and settled down, crossing one leg over the other. "For one thing, light means good, and dark means bad, right?"

"Right."

"Well, what if, say, a werewolf commonly known as a creature of the dark, was actually good? Does that make it a light creature?" Halt was watching the boy closely, dark eyes intent on the thoughtful face before him. "Do you know how 'dark' and 'light' came about?"

"Uh, no," Will blinked. He had never thought about where the terms came from.

"Many, many years ago, in King Alberts reign, there was a great war between Araluen and the nations on the continant. Albert wanted land on the main continant, but no country would give him any. Allied with Celtica and Hibernia- but not Picta-"

"Because Araluen and Picta have always been traditional enemies?" Will guessed. He had learnt that much in the ward.

"Yes, exactly. Anyway, at this time- and remember this was a long time ago- all magical beings, both 'dark' and 'light' kept to their own secluded areas. Albert knew there was a good chance Araluen would be destroyed if he did not ask for help. He turned to the magical creatures. Those that helped him were from then on known as 'light' creatures. Others fought back aggresively, refusing to co-operate with humans."

"And those ones are known as 'dark' creatures," Will concluded. Halt glanced over at him, a light of approval in his eyes.

"That's right," he confirmed.

The days were passing quickly, and before long, days turned to weeks, and then a month had passed. In that time Will had learned to use a bow- but his shooting was barely mediocre as Halt said- and he'd been practising with a throwing knife, hurling it blade first, then hilt first into the trunks of trees.

He'd been more than a little amazed at Halt's skill with the weapons. The ranger had demonstrated his own speed and accuracy as he fired arrow after arrow into multiple targets. Will couldn't help wondering if perhaps that was Halt's magical side. Maybe he was a new kind of creature, an arrow elf, that could shoot with no effort.

He later asked the ranger about this, but Halt denied, claiming the real secret was a lot of practise.

There were other skills Will was perfecting, mainly the ability to move unseen. That was a whole challenge of it's own, with many more areas to it than Will had anticipated. First he had to move soundlessly, treading with caution while Halt kept his eyes closed and claimed a deaf old lady would hear the apprentice passing. Then he had to crouch low in the bushes, frozen in place to avoid detection. Then came movement; learning when to flit from tree to tree as a shadowy figure, and when to snake crawl inch by inch over the rough ground.

They also had brief lessons on mapping and tracking, both of which Will would loose concentration and be berated severly for it.

So with all this to keep him busy, he found himself working day in and day out, both with practise and with chores. There was no time to relax, no time to catch up with his friends from the ward, and no time to dwell on werewolfism. The book on magical creatures lay forgotten in the bottom of his wadrobe while he focused on honing his skills- none of which were anywhere near Halt's standard.

Before he knew it a month had passed, then two months. On both full moons, he was led to the forest where he undressed and blacked out. Neither were any better or any worse than his first transformation, and both times he was given two days bed rest to recover.

One morning, Halt roused him before sunrise, demanded he get dressed and led the way into the forest. Will could not think of a reason why- it wasn't the full moon.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You ask far too many questions," Halt rolled his eyes. He was leading his horse- whose name Will still didn't know (surely it wasn't actually Horse?)- behind him to walk beside the boy.

By mid afternoon they reached a small farm area, tucked away in a clearing. An old man, who introduced himself as old Bob, took Halt's horse to a nearby pasture. He then led over another, slightly smaller grey horse, to meet them.

"This 'ere is Tug," he said.

"Tug will be your...horse," Halt told his apprentice, hesitating over his words slightly.

"Can I ride him?" Will asked, reaching up to stroke Tug's soft muzzle. Halt shrugged.

"If you feel that to be a good idea, go ahead."

The grizzled ranger and Old Bob exchanged anticipating glances. Will did notice; he was already swinging into the saddle. He sat for a moment to get the feel of the horse then tweaked the reins. As soon as he did so, Tug twisted, kicking his rear legs into the air and sending Will crashing onto the dirt.

The apprentice lay panting on the ground. He groaned, heaving himself up and shot his mentor and a cackling old Bob a glare.

"Why did he do that? What did I do wrong?" Will demanded.

"Nothing, but Tug is no ordinary horse," Halt told him, holding up a hand to forestall the next onslaught of questions. "In fact, Tug here isn't a horse at all."

"Then what is he?" Will asked, though he couldn't fathom how an animal that looked like a horse, and sounded like a horse, and felt like a horse, wasn't a horse.

Halt shrugged. He took hold of the dangling reins and passed them to Will. "Tug, like all ranger horses, is actually a unicorn."

Will blinked. He stared at his mentor, not unconvinced that Halt wasn't going senile. "A unicorn?" he repeated, his tone making it clear he believed it was a joke at his expense.

"Tha's right," Old Bob nodded several times, as if there was nothing strange about that.

"But-but-" Will glanced at the intelligent horse eyes staring back at him, then to Halt, then to Old Bob. "But he doesn't have a horn!" he burst out. And besides, he had always imagined unicorns to be pure white stallions with shimmering horns, true creatures of the light. Not this shaggy, grey beast that looked like he had never been brushed before.

"I thought that would come up," Halt said, one eyebrow lifting. "No, as you can see, Tug doesn't have a horn. Because what do you suppose might happen if he did?"

"Happen?" Will repeated dumbly. Halt frowned, his eyebrows lowering over his dark eyes.

"Don't answer questions with other questions boy," he growled.

"Sorry." Will shook his head, annoyed at himself.

Halt sighed. "Well, if ranger horses had horns, everyone would be able to tell they were magical. Some would want unicorns of their own, the more anti magic factions would want to kill them."

"But how are their horns hidden?" Will asked, though he was still doubtful.

"It's a charm," Halt explained. "The Temujai created it and cast it on the local unicorns. Our herd are descended from theirs."

"I see," Will muttered. "So Tug is a unicorn without a horn. Not really much of a unicorn then, is he?"

"You tell that to them fancy battlehorses," old Bob grinned. "Tug 'ere is more unicorn than any o' them. He'll run all day, run 'em bigger horses to the ground."

"I'm sure he will," Will said politely. Halt shrugged, detecting the tone of voice.

"You can ride him and see," he said. "First, you need to be bonded."

"Bonded?" Will repeated. Halt sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, that's what I said. Step forward and touch his forehead."

Will hesitated, unsure that his mentor wasn't completely crazy. But both Halt and Old Bob were waiting impatiently, so he rested his palm above Tug's eyes. Even the horse – rather unicorn- looked expectant, as if he too knew what was about to happen and Will was the only one left out.

"Now focus," Halt instructed. "You have to empty your mind and say his name. Then say, 'I wish to work with you as bonded master and unicorn, do you accept?'"

"Ah alright," Will nodded a few times, then stared deep into Tug's dark eyes. He forced his thoughts away to the back of his mind, allowing the wind and leaves and essence of nature to wrap around him, as if his body was empty and of no more meaning than a line of bark on a tree. "Tug," he said. "I wish to work with you as bonded master and unicorn, do you accept?"

He could feel heat rising into his palm, an electric current of energy and found himself unable to move away. For one split second, he thought he saw a shimmering golden horn appear on Tug's forhead, then he blinked and it disappeared.

"You should have seen his horn if he accepted," Halt told him and the apprentice moved away, panting.

"Yes, I saw it," he gasped, somewhat overwhelmed. Tug butted against his shoulder lightly. He couldn't feel the horn at all- if it were still there invisible, it passed right through him.

"To cement your bond, you have to sleep beside him tonight in the stable," Halt instructed.

"Alright," Will stroked Tug's soft muzzle. He was eager to get to know his unicorn better and Tug felt the same if his gentle nuzzling of Will's hand was anything to go by.

That night, he curled up in a pile of straw, an old woollen blanket covering him. Tug was in the stall beside him, breathing in contented horsey whiffles. During the day, he had been taught how to saddle and care for Tug, though he was not permitted to ride him until their bond was cemented. Apparently, he would then have a codeword for Tug that he only had to say once and after that, only those who said the codeword would be able to ride the unicorn.

He drifted into a deep sleep, falling away from the real world. In his dreams, he was standing alone in the dark and then Tug appeared, glowing as he snuffled around, a golden horn sprouting from his forehead.

Dream Will smiled at his new friend. He moved forward, walking in steady, dreamlike steps. He took hold of dream Tug's reins and, compelled by some unknown force, swung into the saddle. "Do you mind?" he asked, his dreamself fully expecting the unicorn to reply.

If Tug was planning to say anything, Will was awake before it happened. He woke with sweat slicked skin and a pounding heart, though he had felt little emotion except wonder in the dream. Tug was awake too- he cocked his head at the apprentice and Will could have sworn he winked.

That day, he rode Tug for the first time. Without really knowing how he knew- and half wondering if Tug was a master of telepathy and talking to him without him realising- he realised his first words to Tug in the dream, 'do you mind' were the codewords.

He swung into the saddle and rode in a circle around the paddock. Halt swung the gate open.

"Take him out and see what he can really do," the ranger instructed and Will urged his unicorn into a gallop.

They flew over the fields, leaping over a fallen log and swerving around another. Once or twice, he thought he glimpsed the horn, though he was probably mistaken. Halt and old Bob were tiny figures ahead of them and grew rapidly larger as they raced over the fields.

"He's terrific," Will gasped. "He's as fast as the wind!"

"Well, maybe not that fast, but he's certainly respectable," Halt said. Old Bob praised Will's riding technique, to which the apprentice grinned and snuck a look at his mentor to see if Halt had noticed the praise.

He was feeling particularly bold as they rode back to the cabin in the woods that evening, the golden light filtering through the trees. Halt's horse was also a unicorn and Halt had told him the codewords, _permettez moi_, earlier in the day.

"Halt?" he asked. The grizzled ranger sighed.

"You never stop asking questions." He turned in his saddle, apparently resigning himself to answering.

"You never told me your horses name." Will was quite proud of this phrasing- it wasn't a question so Halt couldn't complain.

"No, I don't believe I ever did," Halt said. "It's Abelard, since you're so keen to know."

"Abelard." Will repeated. "Abelard your horse, and Crowley your bird."

He couldn't fathom why Halt's eyebrow rose at the last part and, unbelievably, the corner of his mouth twitched up, before falling back to a frown and leaving Will to wonder if he had imagined the smile.

**I think I told someone that Tug was a normal horse...well, I changed my mind when this idea occurred to me. **


	5. Chapter 5

**My chapters are getting shorter and shorter. **

**Chapter 5**

"Hey Halt?" Will was rinsing their dishes after the evening meal and paused in his task as a question occurred to him.

Halt was seated in his favourite armchair, reading through a report. He glanced up at his name, a frown forming on his lips. He was paler than usual- had been for a few days actually- and Will was starting to worry he might be sick.

"You never stop asking questions," he grumbled. Will shifted uncomfortably and his mentor resigned himself to answering. "What is it? Keep washing those dishes while you talk."

Will realised his hands had stilled. He started scrubbing again. "You told me that werewolves could be either good or bad, right?"

"Something like that." Halt's voice did not encourage anymore conversation.

"Well, why did you take me as an apprentice if I could have been evil?" Will turned around, abandoning the dishes to watch his mentor's expression. Halt eyed him calmly.

"Evil is a strong, often misused word," the grizzled ranger said. He must have seen Will's frustration that the question hadn't been answered, because he shrugged and added, "I didn't think you were."

"But I could have been," Will insisted. He couldn't believe that the famous ranger Halt would take him in so easily.

Halt sighed, clearly losing interest in the discussion. "I have fought thugs and bandits, arrested men who have done wrong things and taken an active part in wars. I think I can handle one apprentice werewolf, even if he did turn out to be evil." He paused, a thoughtful expression passing over him. "Although, with all the questions you ask, I'm starting to doubt myself."

"But if I had been evil," Will persisted. "Would you have killed me?"

"Will, there's more to people than good and evil," Halt answered. He was avoiding the question, Will thought. "Now, those dishes need washing."

Reluctantly, the apprentice let it go and turned back to the dishes, sloshing water over them. When they were sparkling clean, he made two cups of coffee and took one over to his mentor. Halt was reading his report and nodded thanks in response to the coffee. Will settled on the sofa.

After a while, he became aware that Halt hadn't turned the page of his report- he'd been staring at the same lot of writing for almost half an hour. Will knew his mentor wasn't a slow reader.

"Halt?"

"What now?"

"Are you sick?"

Halt sighed. "No Will. I'm not sick," he snapped.

"You don't look too good." Will would not give up easily. "Maybe you should get an early night."

Halt closed his eyes, setting the report down on a low coffee table. "I am fine." He spat each word. His voice was strained.

There was a tense silence. Something was definitely wrong with his mentor, Will decided. He wasn't sure what to do. Halt glanced over at him and their eyes met, the older ranger's dark much darker than usual- with an unhealthy sheen to them.

"On second thought, I don't feel too well after all," Halt said, jerking his head back to break eye contact. "I might go out for a bit. Get some fresh air."

Before Will could say anything, he slipped from the cabin, wrapping his ranger cloak around him. The apprentice frowned, more than a little confused at his mentors strange behaviour.

He rose from the sofa and, using all his powers of stealth, crept out of the cabin along the veranda. The moon was up- a half moon, he noted, so there was still some weeks before his next transformation. It was an unconscious decision to follow Halt. He had to know what his mentor was up to.

He spotted the shadowy figure jogging along the path towards the village. Will hung back, waiting for Halt to turn around and send him back to the cabin, so he was surprised when the ranger did not even hesitate. He must be distracted, Will decided.

He crept along the dappled shadows, following behind Halt as the grizzled ranger headed for the town. The first buildings came into sight and Will nearly lost sight of his mentor. He hurried around the houses, pressed up against the walls and trying to keep his heartbeat even.

He could hear men's voices and a shattering of glass. Some rowdy villagers drunk on a late night, he assumed. A dog barked; an owl hooted. Then an ear splitting scream- a girl. Will started and slipped around the building to see what was wrong. He remembered just in time to remain unseen and dropped low, but the damage was done- Halt turned around and fixed him with a stern look.

"Go home," the ranger said.

"But Halt, I want to know what's going on!" Will protested. Halt shook his head.

"Home," he laid stress on the word, and the gleam in his eyes told Will there would be trouble if he did not obey. He hesitated, then slipped away with a mumble of, 'yes Halt'.

Only he didn't go home. He ducked behind a building and counted to three. He heard the muted voices of men talking, then one of them shouted in outrage: it's a ranger!

"Go home ranger," another said. "Dis is your territory...our spot. You go find your own." His words were slurred, the mark of a drunk man.

"I am really in no mood for this." Halt's voice was steely. Will wedged himself in the narrow gap between two houses and climbed up to the roof. He kept belly down, silently creeping over the roofing tiles to see what was happening. He wouldn't have been surprised if Halt could hear his heart beating.

The grizzled ranger was surrounded by four men, all drunk and one of them holding a girl of about eighteen. His longbow was over his shoulders, in no way threatening, but one hand rested casually on the hilt of his saxe knife.

"Let the girl go," he said, his tone deceptively calm. One of the men stepped forward, drawing confidence from the fact that he was a good head taller than the ranger.

"I ain't gonna take no orders from you ranger," he scoffed, staggering around.

"Last chance to let her go." Now, Halt drew his saxe, holding the blade by his side in a calculating, threatening gesture. The man only laughed.

Will was taken aback by the shear speed by which his mentor moved. Halt darted forward and got in a quick punch to the jaw, then pivoted on his heel to follow it up with an elbow jab in the ribs- hard enough to bruise. The man staggered back and his three companions leapt for the ranger, but Halt dealt with them easily, stabbing one in the thigh, flat kicking the other's knee and sending his throwing knife whizzing at the third. It sliced through his ear, blood spurting from the wound. Drunk as they were, the men were somewhat dazed and uncomprehending of this quick victory. Halt retreived his throwing knife and gave them all a quick knock to the head to keep them unconscious for a while.

"Like I said, really not in the mood," he muttered, then gestured to the girl. "You're free to go," he said. Sobbing, she staggered to her feet and sprinted away.

Halt knealt down beside one of the unconscious men- the one who had first spoken rudely to him. For a moment, Will was completely uncomprehending of what his mentor was doing. The ranger dragged the man to a sitting position and ran a thumb down the vein in his throat.

And then, with no warning, he bit down on the man's neck.

The world seemed to slow down for Will. He couldn't tear his eyes from the bright drop of blood sliding down the man's collar, licked up by Halt after a pause. The ranger made sucking, thirsty noises and, finally, Will's mind caught up with what was happening.

Halt was drinking blood, like a ….like a vampire.

A vampire, yes, they were in his magical creatures book. Dark, evil creatures that killed to satisfy their hunger.

He'd never noticed Halt having fangs, but, if he thought about it, the combination of the scruffy beard and unsmiling mouth would hide them. Maybe if Halt went around grinning widely, he would have noticed- maybe that was why Halt didn't smile, to keep his secret.

It was all too much to take in. Will didn't know what to think. On the one hand, he'd grown to like and respect Halt over the months. On the other, vampires were not creatures he could trust. Then again, Halt had spoken to him about 'good' and 'evil' being irrelevant terms- but he could just be saying that because he was 'dark'. It put a whole new perspective on everything Halt had said.

His breath was speeding up, and he was uncomfortable on the rooftop. He was starting to slide forward and bit his lip, hoping Halt wouldn't see him. It was much more serious now, he did not want to be caught spying by a vampire.

Too late, Halt looked up. Blood was dripping through his beard and Will could see the marks of his fangs in the man's neck, by the light of an abandoned lantern flickering on an old crate. Halt lay the man he had drunk from and stood up.

"Wasn't very nice blood," he said. "Tainted with too much alchohol." He sighed and waved a hand at the rooftop. "I know you're there, Will. Come on down."

Will swallowed a sudden rush of fear and slid down to the ground. Halt took a step towards him and he flinched, moving back instinctively. There were a million places he'd rather be than here, in this alley, with a vampire.

Halt sighed again, one hand trying to rub the blood from his beard. "I'd like to say I don't bite, but I guess you know now that I do."

For a moment, Will thought he saw a glimmer of hurt on the stern face before him. He had a flash of insight- a sudden idea that his mentor might have lost friends before because they found out he was a vampire.

"You're a vampire." Will said, pleased that his voice didn't tremble.

"I am," Halt confirmed, though his mouth tugged in a grimance at the word. "A born vampire to the Karris house in Hibernia."

"And you drank from him." Will pointed to the unconscious man.

"I don't have a choice, Will." Halt's voice was gentle and consoling. "If I don't drink, I'll get progressively weaker." He did look better now, Will thought. Colour had returned to his cheeks and he held himself with a stronger stance.

"Look, let's get back to the cabin," Halt said. "Give it a few days and then you can decide whether or not you want to continue your ranger training. I won't force you to train under a vampire- I don't want to be living with someone I can't trust anyway."

Will nodded dumbly. They started walking back to the cabin. For once, it was Halt filling in the silence.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I think you have the potential to be an excellent ranger. Don't make a rash decision just because of me. Remember what I've been telling you about 'dark' and 'light'- you're a werewolf after all. And if you want to be a ranger, just not under me, we can arrange for you to train under somebody else, though you will have to leave Redmont." His voice died away in the night air.

Will glanced up at him. He could see the tense line of Halt's jaw and recognised the closed off expression as one Maria sometimes had when mentioning werewolves. Only this wasn't a fear of werewolves, this was- could it be?- a fear of losing a friend?

As he thought it, he came to realise he thought of Halt as a good friend now. No longer was he called 'boy', he was 'Will' now and that made him feel accepted. Without really thinking about it, he had assumed he would always continue to be a ranger and never stop training- he'd become so used to the idea. And he was enjoying it too; enjoying working with Tug, learning archery and unseen movement and sitting with a cup of coffee beside Halt as they talked over the history of the corps, and practised mapping exercises.

Will wanted to be a ranger. He did. There were no other jobs out there for a werewolf and he didn't want there to be. He was going to be Ranger Will.

They reached the cabin. Halt hung his bow on the peg by the door and washed the blood from his beard. Deep in thought, Will moved off to his room, where he lay on his bed.

Halt had known he was a werewolf and he had still wanted Will as an apprentice, even though werewolves were 'dark' creatures (He could hear Halt's voice in his head, bearating him- 'light' and 'dark' are inappropriate terms Will). And Halt had been a fair mentor, and, more importantly, a friend.

Will came to his decision. He didn't care if Halt was a vampire, even though the thought still sent a shiver down his spine. Halt was still the same, grumpy person. Halt was still his mentor. Everything was fine, he could get used to a vampire. Vampire, the word felt strange in association with his mentor.

He was still musing when he drifted into sleep.

**Hrm, this ended up being kinda rushed. Sorry about that- and sorry for the crappy fight scene. There will be real fights later. Yes, I think I can see my laziness coming through the words...I tend to skip over a lot of description in fanfiction- maybe because it's internet reading and I don't want it to be bogged down? When I'm writing original stories, I would be describing the scenery... **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Will got up bright and early, feeling surprisingly optimistic for one who had just discovered his mentor was a vampire. He had a fresh mind after a good nights sleep, and he'd already decided to trust Halt. Besides, as the older ranger had pointed out, Will was a werewolf, and it would be hypocritic of him to worry his mentor was 'dark'.

"You're up early." Halt was seated at the kitchen table, one leg crossed over the other. An ever present cup of steaming coffee was in front of him. His eyes were shadowed, as if he hadn't slept all night.

"I'm just too eager to start shooting targets all day long," Will said. He set about making himself a big breakfast of bacon and eggs. Halt twitched, taken by surprise, although from what, Will didn't know.

"So you've made a decision then?" the ranger asked, eyeing his apprentice carefully.

"Oh yes," Will said, distracted by the food he was cooking. "Did you want any of this?" he gestured to the meal and Halt shook his head.

"I'll pass," the vampire declined. "Are you saying you wish to continue to be my apprentice?" he brought the attention back to the main topic of concern. Will nodded with enthusiasm.

"Of course. I'm a ranger," the apprentice met his master's eyes, his voice firm and determined, a smile on his lips. "And no one else would accept a werewolf anyway."

"That may well be true," Halt agreed.

After breakfast, Will busied himself with practice. He shot until his hands ached. Motivation was stirring within him, he wanted to become a great ranger and he wanted to make Halt proud. He would do his best to get those occasional 'good jobs' or 'well dones' and even, if he worked really hard, a rare smile.

By late morning, Halt came out and leaned against a tree, watching his apprentice shoot. He didn't point out any technical faults, which was unusual, and just stood there, watching with those dark eyes. It was beginning to unnerve Will, a prickle crawling up his back at being watched so intently.

Eventually, Halt disappeared and, wonder of wonders, cooked up a stew for lunch. He called Will in for a break and the two of them sat on the veranda, mopping up the stew with thick, fresh bread.

Halt was definitely acting strange, Will thought. Almost like he was...insecure? But Will knew better than that, Halt didn't get insecure. He seemed to have something on his mind though.

"Were you bitten to become a vampire?" Will asked, the question just occuring to him.

Halt shook his head. "No, that's just rumour and superstition. Werewolves are the only creatures with what we call poison bite," he paused, glancing at his apprentice. "You can write that down in your book of magical creatures if you want."

Will wasn't sure how his mentor had known about the book. Halt had an uncanny way of just...knowing things.

"I was born a vampire," Halt continued. "I think I mentioned that yesterday. Maybe you should shake out that cotton wool between your ears."

"Sorry," Will muttered, feeling the sharp comment to be unnecessary. Halt shook his head, dismissing the apology. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a frantic gabble of noise.

"Ranger! Ranger!" A man, perhaps in his early forties, was running towards them. The rings on his fingers and the heavy gold chain around his neck marked him as wealthy. His pants were purple and puffed out, his silk shirt clung to his heaving chest in a film of sweat. The beard and moustache were trimmed neatly, the dark hair slicked back. He stopped in front of them, doubled over and panting. "Rangers," he corrected, seeing two cloaked figures.

"Frank," Halt greeted him, setting his plate of stew to one side. Will wasn't surprised that his mentor knew the man, there was nothing and no one Halt didn't know. "What seems to be the problem?"

Frank puffed out his red, sweat coated cheeks and exhaled a long breath. He was overweight and the run had taken its toll on him.

"Robbery," he said. "There were five of them, they just came into my shop and stole all our precious gems, necklaces, rings, brooches..." He must own a jewellery shop, Will realised as the man continued to list expensive items.

"Never mind what they stole," Halt said impatiently, rising to his feet. "Do you know who they were?"

Frank shook his head. "No sir Ranger, I don't know who they were. They waved their swords at my wife and threatened to kill her if I raised the alarm."

"We'd best help you then," Halt said. He gestured for Will to join him and the two of them started strolling along, leaving Frank to hurry after them.

"Just you sir Ranger, there's no need for the both of you," he huffed. Halt raised an eyebrow.

"Probably not, but Will's going to come anyway," the vampire shrugged. It was good for Will's training to witness the sort of thing rangers dealt with.

"Right then," Frank sounded uncertain. Halt paid him no notice.

"You said they had swords?"

"That's right," Frank nodded enthusiastically. "They waved 'em round and threatened us."

"Unusual for robbers," Halt mused. "Usually, soldiers or such people have swords, and they rarely steal since their training is so strict."

"Well," Frank paused, uncertain. "They had knives actually. Knives. I was exaggerating a little."

Halt's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "If we're going to help you, Frank, I suggest you be honest with us."

"I'm sorry Ranger, I'll be right honest from now on," Frank said. He was still sweating a lot and he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"You said they threatened to kill your wife until you raised the alarm, but once they'd stolen everything, they just let you go?" Halt asked, frowning.

"Er, that's right," Frank muttered. "That's right. Said they didn't care no more about the alarm because they had what they wanted and no one would ever catch them. Yeah, that's what they said, they did."

Halt raised his eyebrows at Will. "Cocky robbers," he said. "Overconfidence will be their downfall."

"Yeah, that's why I came to you," Frank said. "I knew you'd be able to track them down."

They reached the jewellery shop, a two story building with a large padlock over the door and a painting of a necklace hanging overhead. The padlock was open and Frank hung back, a pudgy hand over his red face as if he coud not bear to see his ransacked shop.

Halt shoved the door open, and immediately a shape flew at him. With all the reflexes of a skilled ranger, he twisted out of the way, spinning around to have his back pressed against the wall and his saxe knives appeared in his hands, as if by magic for no one saw him slide them from the scabbards.

The man that had lunged at Halt stumbled upon meeting no resistance. There were six other men in the room, all equipped with swords that were held out ready to fight.

"Sorry Josh," Frank said. The man who had lunged recovered his balance and glared at Frank.

"There's two of them," he said, gesturing to Will. Then the hilt of Halt's saxe slammed into his head and he collapsed to the ground. Will was much too slow to react, while he was distracted by the unconscious man, Frank stepped behind him and grabbed both his arms, holding them behind the boy's back.

Three of the men attacked Halt at once and he was completely distracted fighting them to come to his apprentices aid. Another man stood back, waiting in case the vampire defeated one of his comrades.

The other two moved to where Will was kicking and struggling against Frank's hold. Frank was much bigger than him, and though he was fat, his arms were well muscled.

"Let me go!" Will snapped. Frank shook his head, looking miserable.

"Disarm him Luke," One of the men, the oldest, with greasy grey hair that hung to his shoulders and a bushy beard, ordered.

"Whatever you say Owen," Luke waved a careless hand. He confiscated Will's knives, arrows and bow. Will narrowed his eyes. He hated being without his weapons, it really made him feel weak and helpless, especially when he was being held by a man twice his size.

"He's just a boy," Frank cautioned. "The old one is the one you want."

Owen shook his head. "That he is, and yet you dared to bring two of them? And now Luke and I have to watch this one while the other four deal with the ranger. We've lost the element of surprise and it may well take all seven of us to bring him down, but now thanks to the hesitation of seeing the apprentice, Josh is unconscious."

"I brought you two instead of one!" Frank cried. "Isn't that good? That's good right?"

"Oh yes, very good," Owen said dryly. "So hand the boy over to us."

"What do you want?" Will asked, sick of staying quiet and determined to get answers of what was going on. Luke sniggered at him, leering as if to say, what, you think you can talk to _us?_

Owen took hold of the apprentice and tossed him over his shoulder. His grip was iron, even stronger than Frank's, and no matter how Will twisted and struggled, he couldn't break free.

Then, without batting an eyelid, Luke stepped forward and drove his sword deep into Frank's stomache. The jeweller coughed, blood spraying.

"We don't have a use for you anymore," Luke said, a taunting smile on his lips. He pulled the sword out and Frank collapsed on the ground.

Owen started to walk away, Will slung over his shoulder. A few nearby townspeople huddled together, then ran away when Luke smiled at them.

"Let me go!" Will spat. "Halt!" Swearing to himself, he realised if Owen continued to walk, he would be separated from his mentor. He couldn't see inside to what was happening, though he caught flashes of the fight through the open doorway and the windows. He heard a cry of pain and realised with a sense of exultion that Halt had managed to cut down at least one of the men.

"You go help the others," Owen instructed Luke. "I can deal with this boy."

"You're sure?" Luke leaned on one hip, twirling his sword around his fingers.

"Halt!" He called again, fighting against the iron grip that held him. His mentor glanced at him through the doorway, but he was tied up in staying alive and there wasn't much he could do.

"Hang on, Will!" he called, darting forward and cutting down another of the men. Owen dragged him away, leaving Luke behind.

"Halt!"

"Oh shut up," Owen shook him. He carried the boy through a twisting mase of streets and dumped him down in an alley. Will tried to slip away but a calloused hand wrapped around his throat.

"Now talk. What kind of magical monster are you?" Owen snarled. Will blinked up at him.

"No'...magi..." he managed to whisper. The hand around his throat tightened and he struggled for breath. He could already feel his limbs growing weak.

"You're a ranger," Owen told him. "And ranger's are magical. So spill it!"

Even if he knew what to say, he couldn't talk. The corner of his vision was fuzzy. His hand scrabbled against the wall behind him, desperately trying to find a weapon, any weapon, to fight with.

"Well?" Owen demanded, an animal smile splitting his mouth. His teeth were yellow and his foul breath warmed Will's face. He loosened his hold around the apprentice's throat, perhaps realising the boy couldn't talk.

"Ah'm..Ah.." Say something, Will thought to himself. Just say something, something acceptable, anything other than a werewolf. "Ah'm a vampire," he gasped stupidly. That was just as bad! He'd been so caught up in avoiding the truth, and lately he'd been thinking about Halt's vampirism so it had just slipped out.

"A vampire?" Owen murmured. "That's worse than I thought. A daaark creature." He sniggered. "Don't even need to be in this alley then. No one would protest if I killed a vampire."

Will pushed his head forward against the hand around his throat and did the only thing he could think of. He pressed his teeth into Owen's shoulder and bit down.

Startled, Owen leapt back, releasing the boy, unwilling to have his blood sucked out by a vampire, or to turn into one as legends suggested. Will took the opportunity. He flat kicked Owen's leg and followed up by a short punch to the ribs. When he was strangling Will, Owen had left his sword on the ground and Will dived for it.

Owen lunged for him and Will thrust the sword forward. It buried deep into the man's shoulder, blood spurting from the wound. It was the first time Will had wounded a man before and he cringed- the sound of steel slicing through flesh was not a pretty one, and it had taken more strength than he had expected to break through the muscle.

Owen clutched the wound and charged at the boy. Will leapt out the way, running on adreniline, and swung the sword at the man's neck. It stuck there, blood gushing from the wound but the swing had not had sufficient force to split the man's head from his shoulders. It was a messy cut, and Owen gagged, the wound not enough to kill immediately, but he could not turn his head with the gash at the base of his neck. And there were nerves there, nerves that connected down his back to his body. He sagged to his knees.

Will swung the pommel into his head, knocking him unconscious. His hands were shaking. It had been his first real fight and he had not had the weapons he was used to. He had distracted the man with a dirty trick and he had fought with pure instinct and little skill.

But he had survived.

And though he was not proud of the fight, it was worth it for his life.

He left Owen bleeding in the alley and hurried back to the jewellery shop to find Halt. His heart thudded in his chest. What if Halt had not survived?

He ran into the ranger on the way to the shop.

"Halt!" he cried, unable to help himself from running up and giving the ranger a hug. "What just happened? Who were those people? Why did they want to fight us?"

Halt blinked, stunned at the hug and returned it a little awkwardly. "Those were men from the _True Guard_," he said. "You can write that term in your book."

"The _True Guard_?" Will asked. He term was unfamiliar to him.

"That's what they call themselves," Halt said. "They're a group of people who hate magical creatures, even those that are of the 'light'. We were lucky. The high ranked Knights of the _True Guard_ are highly skilled swordsmen, and they can be very clever. This lot were a bunch of charlatans, lowly sneaking theifs and bandits at the best."

"So they attacked us because ranger's are magical?" Will asked. They had begun walking back to the jewellery store.

"That's right," Halt confirmed. "The _Ture Guard_ have been trying to exterminate every magical creature for as long as I can remember, including rangers. Watch out for them."

They reached the store. Josh and the other four men were sprawled on the floor, defeated. Will frowned.

"Halt," he said quickly. "There was another one. Luke. He was sent back to help this lot."

Halt stiffened. "I thought he was with you," he muttered. "Keep your eyes open."

A prickle travelled up Will's spine. Was Luke lurking around them, waiting for the right moment? Or had he retreated when Halt dispatched his comrades? What if he trailed them until nightfall, crept into the cabin and-

Halt strode over to the door, slammed it back on his hinges and drove his saxe deep into Luke's body where the man had been crouched outside. Luke crumpled to the ground. Halt rubbed his eyes.

"He must have trailed me," he muttered. "I'm sorry Will, I should have noticed something was off about Frank- those _True Guard _thugs probably bribed him to help them catch us by surprise. And I should have at least been able to help you and hear this guy. If you hadn't mentioned him, I wouldn't have listened so intently and he might have succeeded in sneaking up on me."

"It's not your fault," Will reassured him. He hated to see his mentor down, and the apprentice hadn't noticed anything amiss with Frank either.

Halt shook his head. "I was not up to scratch. I've had a lot on my mind lately, you see, it's been weighing me down."

Will had noticed something off about his mentor lately. "What is it?" he ventured so far to ask. Halt hesitated, then his shoulders sagged slightly in defeat.

"I was wondering why you agreed to be my apprentice so quickly, and with so much eagerness, after just discovering I was a vampire," Halt admitted. "I worried you might have plans to kill me in my sleep or another similar ulterior motive, but I didn't think you were the type. I still don't."

His dark eyes peirced Will's, shadowed with the pain of many long,hard years.

"You certainly don't seem bothered that I'm a vampire. Especially for one who not so long ago was terrified of dark creatures, even though you're a werewolf." Halt regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps you felt pressured to continue your apprenticeship," he mused, almost as if he was talking to himself. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't. After all, many rangers are wary around me Why would a mere orphan boy feel comfortable around a dark creature?"

Will stared at him a moment. "Well, you know Halt," he said slowly. "There's more to people than good and evil. And anyway, I don't think dark and light are appropriate terms, because what if there was say, a vampire who was good." A grin twitched the corner of his mouth.

"I believe I've heard that sentence before," Halt said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "A very wise man said it first, when a cheeky boy was apprenticed to him."

Then his mouth turned up in a rare smile and he rested a hand on his apprentice's shoulder as the two of them strolled in comfortable silence back to the cabin, leaving the dead bodies behind them for someone else to clean up.

**If you didn't get it, Halt said pretty much the same things to Will in one of the previous chapters, cept it was a werewolf who was good, not a vampire, and the good and evil bit was separate. **

**Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Thank you all for your reviews! **

**To newdawnfox: Halt's not really a _kind_ of vampire from a series as such, I just took the concept of a well known creature that sucks blood and made it conveniant to the story. That's why the people he bites don't turn into vampires, it'd be inconveniant lol. **

**He's definitely not a twilight vampire though, sparkling is so not cool and Halt's too manly lol. **

Halt was in a meeting with the baron up at Castle Redmont, so Will had the little cabin all to himself. He'd spent the morning shooting arrows, and now, as were Halt's instructions, he was to complete a mapping exercise in which he had to write the names of all fifty fiefs in their positions, along with as many landmarks he could think of.

Redmont fief was easy enough, and Castle Araluen. Will chewed the end of his quill, deep in thought. Dellware fief was harder. He suspected it was somewhere in the north but he couldn't be sure.

Halt would be back soon and he had made it clear that he had high expectations of his apprentice. Will hated to let the one person who accepted werewolves down. A hint of an idea touched his mind. Maybe Halt had maps in his room? Will knew the vampire kept maps in his saddlebags, but maybe he had some in his room as well. Then Will could simply copy it and put it back in the right place.

He wouldn't copy it all. That would be obvious. He'd just pick out say, forty six of the fifty fiefs and maybe the ten most prominent land marks. Just enough to meet Halt's expectations, but not too far above mediocre to be prompt suspicion.

Pleased with this idea, Will tip toed over to Halt's room. Even though no one was home, he still felt guilty about sneaking into the bedroom, as if the ranger would tap him on the back and fix him with that penetrating glare.

He eased the door open, holding his breath as it creaked, although there was no possible way Halt could hear it from the castle.

Or was there? The ranger knew other things that Will was surprised by. Even for a magical creature, Halt was uncanny.

Will held his breath, but no bats fluttered over to him, no vampire leapt out of the shadows. He shook away his fanciful doubts and headed over to the chest of drawers beside the bed.

Halt's room wasn't at all like one might imagine a vampire's den. The double bed was covered in a thick, woollen duvet. The simple wooden furniture- a desk, a wadrobe, the drawers by the bed, a bookshelf and a cupboard- were free of dust and cobwebs. The heavy bound books did not have the words, 'bats in the shadows' or 'a vampires guide to blood' printed down the spine. Rather they were quite normal: Araluen policies, edible and medical plants of the forest, Fast and easy meals for the working man. A vase of wildflowers rested on the wadrobe.

Nothing gave away that Halt was a vampire, except, perhaps, for the heavy drapes that would obscure all light when they were shut. Will had come to learn that even though light did not harm the ranger, Halt preffered not to be exposed to it.

The top drawer didn't have a map in it. Will bit his lip, concentrating on putting everything back exactly the way it was before he started rummaging through it. His fingers brushed against the wood of a framed portrait.

He knew he shouldn't pry but it seemed so unlike Halt to have a portrait that he couldn't help lifting it it out to stare at it. It was skillfully painted, with oily brushstrokes of a young woman. Her skin was pale and glowed against the light background. The artist had taken great care with eyes, detailing tiny flecks of blue in the grey orbs. Long blonde hair fell over the woman's shoulders, wispy strands drifting over her cheeks and lifting slightly from her scalp in a natural way.

Will found himself glancing around. He was suddenly uncomfortable, as if he was looking in on something extremely private. There was something about the woman that reminded him of Alyss- perhaps it was her gentle smile and the graceful way she lifted her head.

There was no name on the portrait and he wondered who the woman was. She must be close to Halt if he kept a drawing of her beside his bed, but Will had never heard of the vampire having a lover.

He was careful to put her back in the same position and shut the drawer. The apprentice slipped from the room, embarrassed for no paticular reason. He decided against searching any further for a map, as he thought now if Halt caught him the consequences would be horrifying beyond his imagination. He didn't think the vampire was the kind to be jolly about a sneaky apprentice finding a personal portrait.

And why did the ranger have a drawing of a woman beside his bed? Will settled back down, doodling on the corner of his rough, currently unlabeled drawing of Araluen. Did Halt love her?

For some reason, he couldn't shake Alyss from his mind. Would Will like to keep a drawing of her by his bed? Well, maybe, if the painter was good enough to capture the shine in her eyes, a flow of hair framing her delicate face, her full lips smiling, the one freckle on her jawbone.

Not that he loved Alyss. She was just a childhood friend. A really good childhood friend. One that he could trust with secrets. A beautiful childhood friend.

He didn't love her like _that._

Not at all.

Anyway, he had to label his map before Halt got home, and preferably without the rising blush on his cheeks.

…...

Battleschool was not at all like Horace had expected it to be. It was hard work, not at all glamorous, and every day he fell into bed utterly exhausted.

He did like the practice drills. The sweat rolling down his face, the repetitive thud thud thud, the scuff of boots, the thundering instructions of what poistion to take: he found it quite exhilirating.

Not so much the written work. And there was a lot of written work. War tactics, theory of battle, history, and each subject demanded assignments on time. None of them seemed to talk to each other; they were all quite happy to have after class work handed in on the same day, no matter if it meant the students had to stay up late working by the flickering light of a candle to get it done.

Currently, Horace was in Defense Against Magical Creatures class, learning about the dark. Ogres were stupid and could be tricked. Dark Pixies were fast and it was best to catch them in cages. Wargals didn't like horses.

Horace absorbed everything. He had already committed himself to destroying every single dark creature. He had to, because if it weren't for the dark, his parents would still be alive.

In front of him, he was watching an older boy. This boy was a second year and he'd been sent into the class to catch up on his schoolwork while his peers were doing physical training. Whether he was behind in lessons because he'd been sick or because he was lazy, Horace didn't know.

The reason he was watching the boy was because the second year evidently was not doing his work. Insetad, he stared at the teacher, jaw tense with anger as Sir Ronald told them of the horrible crimes dark creatures had committeed.

Horace could see his own resentment reflected in that tense face. So when the lesson ended, he approached the second year boy.

"Hey," he muttered, unsure what came after that. As an orphin, he'd always felt apart from the other kids and hadn't made any close friends in a while.

"Hey," the second year boy muttered. He was not quite as tall as Horace, with olive skin and neat, dark hair. "You're the new ward boy. What happened to your parents? They run away 'cause you were so ugly?"

Horace was thrown. He bunched his fists at his sides and tried to speak evenly. "My parents are dead," it came out with more resentment then he had intended.

"Drown in the flour mill?" the boy chuckled. Horace flushed, trying in vain to hold back his anger behind a thin veil of restraint.

"They were killed honourably in the battle of Hackham Heath," he told the second year, who he now saw to be rude beyond measure.

"Touche," the second year smiled, sensing the anger behind the words. "Well, that's hard luck, that is. I hate them magical monsters."

"I'm going to kill every single dark creature," Horace told him. The second year smiled.

"Not just the dark ones," he said. "You gotta kill 'em all."

Sir Ronald snapped at them for standing talking and the two hurried off. They were heading in seperate directions but just as Horace turned to leave, the second year grabbed his arm.

"Meet me behind this building tonight," he said, a smile on his lips. "If you wanna get rid o' them nasty dark creatures."

Puzzled, but undeniably curious, Horace nodded. The smile on the boys face, which seemed a little sinister now, widened.

"Great. The name's Bryn by the way."

"Horace."

And with that, they parted to their next lesson.

…...

When night fell, Horace slipped from his room and padded down the deserted corridors. He was a little uneasy about meeting Bryn so late at night, though he couldn't say why. Perhaps it had something to do with that sinister smile.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the dorm building. Icy air swirled around him and he shut the door, and with it, his last connection to the warmth of the dorms. Horace treaded across the battleschool, past the training posts, past the weapon shack, and around building one.

Three shadowy figures were huddled around a lantern, stamping their feet and rubbing their gloved hands to keep warm. As he approached, one of them raised the lantern and smiled at him and he recognised it as Bryn.

"Hello," Horace said politely. He tried not to let it be too obvious that he was studying the other boys. One of them was a handsome blond, the other a redhead with a freckled face, and both of them had nasty grins.

"Hey," Bryn had his hand on his hip, studying the younger boy. "Alda, Jerome, this is Horace that I told you about. Horace, my friends Alda and Jerome."

"Hello," Horace said again. He was wary of the fact that there were three of them and they had him surrounded, but as of yet there was nothing malicious about them save the grins.

"Heard you wanted to join our little club," Jerome said.

Horace frowned, and Bryn gave him a reassuring smile.

"It's a club to kill magical creatures," he whispered. Horace nodded slowly.

"Yes, I want to join," he said, although he didn't much like the three second years.

"You have to go through initiation first," Alda said. He had a burlap sack in his hand and he opened it to reveal a sword inlaid with jewels. Horace couldn't hold back a gasp as the sword was passed to him. He took it tentatively, as if it would break.

"It's my fathers," Alda told him. "He gave it to me. But I ain't allowed it at school so don't tell."

"Or else," Jerome threatened, his eyebrows dropping low over his eyes.

"I won't tell," Horace promised. He swung the sword to try it out, admiring the shine of silver in the lantern light.

"And don't you tell about anything else neither," Jerome added.

"He won't tell," Bryn said, confident. "He's a first year, and little first years get kicked out of battle school if they rat on their seniors." He grinned at Horace. "And you wouldn't want that, would you ward brat?"

Horace gritted his teeth. He had to fight his rising anger down. This club was much too intriguing- he wasn't going to go and lose his temper. "Tell me about the club," he said.

"It's quite simple," Alda said. "We sneak out at night and hunt down magical creatures."

Horace nodded. It sounded perfect. The perfect way to do Araluen a service. "So what do I have to do for initiation?"

"You've got to kill a dark creature and show us the body," Alda explained.

"And no trickery," Jerome added.

"You can keep the sword for now," Alda said. "Since first years are only allowed practice weapons." So were second years, but Horace couldn't be bothered pointing that out. "You have one week to kill a magical creature."

"Alright, I'll do it," Horace said. Even if it meant he was to become very busy, he had to prove that he could do Araluen a great service by killing the dark creatures.

The three second years grinned at him, nodding to each other.

"Be glad to expand the club," Bryn murmured.

"Is it just the three of you?" Horace asked. The second years exchanged a glance again.

"In this battleschool, yes," Alda said. "But we're a part of a bigger group. It's called the True Guard."

**Lol, I've been so stupid lately:**

**At home- Dad talking about The Voice Australia: How many songs did they have this episode?**

**Me: There were four judges and each one had two battles from their group. So, 2 times 4 is twelve, twelve songs.**

**Dad and my brother crack up laughing because I'm in the maths extension class and I'm taking exams above my year level. **

**Now, when writing fanfiction:**

**This is what I nearly wrote when Will is in Halt's room. **

His fingers brushed against the wood of a framed photograph. **A photograph. Really. I honestly was so close to writing that. **

**I'm still concerned that they wouldn't have books because paper was so expensive in those days, but I'm choosing to ignore it. **

**Also, I can't remember the personalities of Alda, Bryn and Jerome so I kind of made them up. Sorry if it bothers anyone. I'm trying to keep them close to the books, but I fear they're drifting away as their roles develop. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Thank you," Will said, counting out three silver pieces and resting them on the bench. Jason Barre, a well muscled merchant, with wispy brown hair tied at the base of his neck, accepted the coins and handed the apprentice a sack of ground coffee beans.

Buying coffee was the only time Will got off training, save for special occassions. Halt firmly believed that the cabin must be stocked up with enough coffee beans to last one week at any time. Which meant they usually bought two weeks worth, so that they could eat one week and still have enough left for the emergency supply. The emergency referring to if Redmont ran out of coffee. Apparently, coffee with honey was more delicious than any blood in the world for the vampire, a fact that went against all legends of dark, blood thirsty monsters.

Blood thirsty vampire, Will chuckled to himself, more like coffee thirsty.

"Have a good day, ranger Will," Barre said.

"You too, merchant Barre," Will waved a hand, smiled, and stepped out of the small shop. It always puzzled him that the shop was tucked away in a narrow side street- a shady street too, the kind of place theives would trade stolen goods after dark and warmweed would exchange hands. He supposed it had been there before Barre bought it, but it was a strange place for a man who had nothing to hide.

He hesitated on the bustling main street. All that awaited for him back at the cabin was an afternoon of tough training and an evening of chores. He considered telling Halt that Jason Barre had just received a shipment of stock and Will had helped him put it on the shelves before buying the coffee. That way, he could afford to stay in Wensley village a little longer.

Or he could go to the castle and see Alyss. Of course, he quickly added in his mind, he could also meet up with Jenny and George, Alyss's name just started with the first letter of the alphabet and that's why she had come to his mind first.

Or he could slink back to the cabin and pretend these thoughts didn't cross his mind. This option was the safest, although he would miss out on seeing Alyss. Halt had an uncanny way of finding things out and Will wasn't convinced he would accept the lie about Barre's stock.

Just as he was debating what he should do, a voice called out his name. A soft, familiar voice with a low pitched cadence and a calm, steady quality to it.

"Alyss?" he asked, scanning the crowd. At first, he didn't see her, then he spotted the flutter of a white couriers gown. "Alyss!"

In his mottled ranger cloak, the crowd parted for him, avoided him, and he met Alyss in the center of the road. She took his hand, and guided him to the fringes of the street, as they had been getting in the way of the oxen pulling carts that were urged to avoid them.

"What are you doing here?" Will asked, unable to hide the happy grin stretched across his face. She smiled back at him.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, then proceeded to answer his question. "Lady Pauline is training me to fit in with the crowd even when I'm wearing my uniform. I think I've failed, running over to you like that." She chuckled and Will was reminded of how her laugh flowed as smooth as a river over shiny black pebbles. "And what about you?"

They were still holding hands and her fingers squeezed his gently at the question.

"I was buying coffee for Halt," he told her. She cocked her head, curious.

"I can't imagine the ranger Halt doing something as mundane as drinking coffee," she admitted. "What is he like, by the way? Is he always very grim?"

Will said that Halt liked nothing more than coffee, that he was more normal than one might think and yes, he was always very grim, but sometimes there was less heart behind the grimness and he even joked- always straightfaced and usually at Will's expense.

"So, is he a magical creature?" Alyss asked. "I've heard that the ranger corps are."

Will hesitated. "I don't know," he said finally. "He looks human. And I guess the ranger corps don't have to be, because I'm not magical and I'm an apprentice ranger." The last bit he raced through, the words stumbling over each other. A sudden coldness had descended into his heart. What would Alyss think if she found out he was a werewolf?

"Okay, okay," Alyss seemed amused by his rush. "I know you're human. I have to admit, I'm kind of releived. I was always a bit scared of Halt, but I suppose if he's not magical, there's nothing to worry about, right?"

"Right," Will muttered. He wasn't sure why he felt so icy inside. His stomache was churning and he thought he might be sick. She would not be smiling at him if she knew.

"Are you alright?" Alyss released his hand to touch his cheek. "You're kind of pale."

"I-I'm fine," Will forced a grin. "I should get this coffee back to Halt."

Alyss pulled her hand away and he had to fight not to sigh at the loss of those soft fingers. "I should be training too," she admitted. "Oh, look, here comes Pauline now."

Will followed her gaze. He had seen Lady Pauline around of course, and her flowing courier gown, her white blonde hair swept up on her head, her serene grey eyes were distinctive to her, and similar to Alyss at once. Now that he was looking directly at her, it was obvious Halt's picture was of her when she was young.

Pauline and Alyss exchanged a few words, the two of them with the same graceful poise and calm expressions. They were very alike. Will gave a clumsy bow and excused himself, his face flushing as he heard Alyss's soft laughter behind him and Pauline saying to her that Will was a nice young man.

A nice young werewolf more like.

…...

Horace was heading for the forest in the dead of night. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, determined to catch a magical creature even though he'd failed two nights before and was really very tired. This time, he decided to try a different part of the forest, the thicker part near to the rangers' cabin.

After all, he'd figured all sorts of hideous creatures would be attracted to the rangers. Will had been apprenticed to Redmont's ranger, he remembered. It didn't surprise him, the smaller boy had always been sneaky and dishonourable, climbing to the highest branches of that old oak tree rather than facing him like a man.

Horace held his breath as he passed the cabin. He had Alda's sword in his hand and he pointed it at the cabin, just in case the rangers were lurking there, ready to jump out. He wouldn't be surprised if they hunted human meat at night.

A light flickered on behind the curtains in one of the rooms. Horace flinched and dropped the sword on the ground, hiding it in the long grass. He didn't want to fight with the ranger Halt, not yet, so it was better that Halt didn't see he had the sword.

Sure enough, the door to the cabin opened and the ranger watched him calmly. Halt beckoned for him to come up onto the veranda. Horace bit his lip, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The sword lay helpless on the ground and the distance between him and his only weapon increased as he stepped up onto the veranda, licking his lips and trying to calm his jangled nerves.

"What are you doing sneaking around in the middle of the night and disturbing me from my sleep?" Halt drawled. Horace noted the knives in the double scabbard, the ranger cloak that shifted and wavered, distorting the ranger as if he were fading in and out of focus.

Horace's throat was dry. He swallowed several times. The ranger simply waited with a raised eyebrow.

"I-uh-I'm a friend of Wills." he hated to even lie about it, that he was a friend of that sneaking rangers apprentice.

"Okay," Halt said at length. "And why are you here in the middle of the night?"

"Um," Horace shifted. "Uh." The dark eyes of the ranger were unnerving. His mind had gone blank, he couldn't think. "I have something to give him," he blurted out.

"Could it not wait until morning?" Halt asked. He was getting impatient now, and he rubbed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, not looking at all concerned. He probably didn't feel threatened by a visitor in the middle of the night because he probably got heaps of his magical friends visiting, Horace thought. And he was probably a sorceror who could blast Horace away without batting an eyelid.

"No, it's very important," the apprentice warrior insisted. "I thought he might want to know about it immediately. But now that you mention it, it is kind of late. I'll go now, goodnight."

He started to back away, but the ranger wasn't going to let him go that easy. "If it's so important, I'll get him for you." Horace blinked.

"Wha..? Really?" In the middle of the night?

Halt gestured for him to enter the cabin. Horace cautiously took one step and stood tense, ready to bolt at a moments notice. The ranger knocked on a side door and it opened, revealing a hurridly dressed, messy haired Will.

The apprentice's stared at each other through bleary eyes. Halt had moved over to the stove. If he was suspicious at all of the warrior, he didn't show it.

"Horace Altman right?" he asked suddenly. Horace flinched.

"Yes." Oh god, he was thinking, he knows my name, oh god, he knows me, oh god, how does he know my name?

"Rodney's new recruit," Halt mused. "I was wondering what you were like."

Will was staring at his enemy as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Horace bit his lip. Any moment now Will would blurt out something that would cause the ranger to see him as an enemy, and Horace really didn't want to know what Halt did to his enemies- did he fry them up and eat them? Did he chop off all their limbs? Did he torture them and laugh like a maniac at their screams?

"Um, Sir Rodney wanted to talk to you," Horace said the first thing that came to mind.

"I thought you said you had something to show him?" Halt pointed out mildly. He had his back to the apprentices and was brewing a pot of coffee on the stove.

"Yes, um, that too. It's with Sir Rodney," Horace said. "It's really important so Will should come straight away."

Will was still staring at him as if he'd grown a third head. "Huh?" he said eventually.

"If it's so important you should go," Halt said. "Just make it quick, we've got a long day ahead of us tommorrow."

So they went. Horace was cursing in his head at the way things had turned out. He'd just made it worse and worse for himself. Will was still staring at him, and he was feeling the urge to poke the other boys eyes out to stop him. Alda's sword was lying abandoned in the field, and Horace knew he would have to come back to get it, but all he wanted to do was leave as fast as he could and never come back.

No, he had to be braver than that. A coward could never acheieve what he wanted to acheieve- the total anhihilation of dark creatures. And as he had the thought, he realised the rangers were probably magical too. He glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye. Was the boy he had grown up fighting with a monster?

"What is this all about?" Will was asking. "Why did you come here? Why does Sir Rodney want me and not Halt? What..." 

Horace wasn't listening. Even though he was an apprentice ranger, this was still the same Will that he could beat in a fight. He should do it, he should do it now. Beat him, threaten him not to tell the ranger that Horace had lied. Kill him. Because undoubtely, the ranger wouldn't like being lied to and Will would tell him that Sir Rodney had nothing to do with any of this.

But he couldn't do it. He had no proof that Will was magical. Horace hated the apprentice ranger, but right now, he wasn't worked up or angry. He wasn't in the mood to fight and he couldn't hurt the smaller boy without anger- his blood did not run cold through his veins.

So instead, feeling like an upmost weakling, he told himself he would just try to get out of this mess and then, if Will was magical, he would find proof. And when he had that proof, he would kill the apprentice ranger, and he'd kill Halt too.

"On second thoughts, you can go back home Will," Horace said.

"What?" Will was still looking extremely confused.

"Sir Rodney doesn't want to see you after all." And since it was obvious Will wasn't going to leave until he got answers, Horace added, "I lied. I just thought I'd pull a prank on you, to rid you of a little sleep. You're so gullible Will and your master too!" he forced a triumphant laugh.

He watched as Will's face twisted with anger. The apprentice stepped forward and slammed his fist into Horace's nose. Blood sprayed into the air and Horace forgot about not hurting the smaller boy. He kneed Will's stomache and followed up with a hooking punch to the shoulder, sending the other boy crashing to the ground.

Horace tried to pin him down, but Will twisted and managed to kick him off. The two apprentices were yelling and brawling and rolling over one another, and a door to a house slammed open. They had made it to Wensley village on the way to the battleschool before the fought, and now a local blacksmith pointed a hot iron at them.

"You two boys quit yer fightin' or I'll show you how a man fights," he hollored, waving the iron. They separated, glaring at each other and at the blacksmith.

"Sorry sir," Will muttered.

"Sorry doesn't cut waking me up in the middle o' the night. Now go home and let me sleep." He slammed the door in their faces.

Will turned and strode back towards the cabin. Horace held his broken nose, grimancing. He hesitated as he watched Will leave, and it was in that moment that he caught sight of the ranger Halt, leaning against a house, his dark eyes boring into the battleschool apprentice.

Seized by a sudden frission of fear, Horace hurried back to the battleschool where he would sneak into his dorm and dream about hot irons and dark, dark eyes.

The next day was a saturday and in his break, he would pluck the courage to return to the cabin for the sword. Will and Halt would be out tracking, and he would search the grassy field for half an hour before giving up, knowing that Alda's sword was lost.

…...

Halt turned the sword over in his hands, admiring the emerald studded hilt.

"Your friend Horace left it behind," Halt said.

"I wonder where he got it from," Will mused.

Halt shrugged. "The real question is, who did he get it from? This is, without a doubt, a sword from the True Guard."

Will's eyes widened. "How can you tell?"

Halt pointed to a silvery inscription on the top of the hilt. "This is their sign," he said. "I'm afraid your friend may be a part of the True Guard."

"He's not my friend," Will said darkly. Halt raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, I could see that," he said. "And I'm very disappointed, Will, a ranger's apprentice should not be so childish as to brawl about."

Will flushed, ashamed. He hated to let his mentor down. "Sorry," he said. "I was angry. Anyway, rangers fight their enemies all the time!"

"And yet, you never drew your knives," Halt pointed out. "If you're fighting someone and you don't want to hurt them with your weapons, there is really no point in fighting them."

Will sighed and bowed his head. There was no excuse for his actions. "Sorry," he said again. Halt nodded curtly, a signal that the matter was over with.

"I'm concerned about the boys intentions," he said. "He brought this sword and yet dropped it when he saw me. I have a sense that he didn't come here to hurt us, but that puzzles me even more. Why was he here?"

Will frowned. Much like his mentor, he hated unanswered puzzles.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing we can do about it," Halt dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "I'll have to mention this to Rodney, and he can deal with it as he sees fit."

"How will he deal with it?" Will asked quietly. "Does anyone care if he's in the True Guard? No one likes magical creatures."

He was thinking of Alyss again, and how she might react if she knew he was a werewolf. Perhaps she would join Horace in the True Guard.

"Rodney is a friend," Halt said firmly. "He doesn't have a problem with rangers and actually, the True Guard is an illegal society even though many people support what they do. He will handle the matter in an approppriate way and we'll have to settle with that."

Will was still a bit downcast. Halt leaned over and patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it too much. As a member of the corps, you'll soon find there are worse things to deal with than one apprentice warrior," he said.

Will didn't find that too comforting.

**Please review! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Under the light of a half moon, a shadow darted across the courtyard. It moved so quickly that no one would have suspected it to be any more than a trick of the light- if there was anyone around to see it. As it was, only a stray tabby raised its head, and if those glinting eyes saw through the shadow to something more, no human would ever know.

Inside the castle, the torches had all but burned away in their brackets. The shadow paused for a moment, then strode up a twisting stairwell. Now, if a servant came to relight the torches, they might recognise the grey green cloak. Or the ranger might decide he didn't want to be seen and flatten himself against the wall.

No one saw him when he stopped. Of course they didn't. No one ever saw Halt when he did not wish to be seen.

Halt was standing in front of a wooden door and he unlocked it, then eased it open. Whatever light still glowed from the torches in the corridor was blocked as he closed the heavy door. He waited, to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.

The ranger had excellent night vision. He could make out the form of a desk littered with parchment rolls, a chair in front of it. Comfy chairs surrounded the coals of what used to be a fire. Heavy drapes covered the window and he opened them a crack, allowing the silvery light of the half moon to reach him.

Halt knew the rooms well. He'd stolen the key a few years ago and had since been sneaking in every few weeks. So he had no trouble finding his way to the bedroom, or making his way to the bed without waking its occupent.

Her eyes were closed, her chest rising up and down with each gentle breath. Her skin seemed creamy in the dark, her lips delightfully pink. White blonde hair strayed over her pillow; it had escaped from the coiled braid at the base of her neck.

If Halt wasn't in fear of waking her, he would have whispered, 'sorry, Pauline', but he was, so he remained silent. Instead, he leaned over her and gently, almost lovingly, he sank his fangs into her neck.

She never woke. When he bit a sleeping human, they would not wake up. He knew that, and yet he still feared that one day she would catch him. Her breathing remained even, and it seemed to him that it matched his beating heart. The blood he drank from her was the sweetest he had from anyone; it filled him up and he knew it would last him for weeks before the craving set in again. And even though he could drink from anyone, he would dream of tasting her blood until he could not supress the urge.

He could feel her veins pulsing beneath his fingertips. It seemed to the vampire that her whole body throbbed with her heartbeat. Blood welled at his lips, gathered under his tongue, slid down his throat- so delightfully thick and creamy and _sweet_. It was Pauline, drinking her blood gave him something akin to the giddiness one feels on a sugar high, so he had to describe it as sweet, even though he could taste metallic salt on his lips.

When he'd had his fill, he detatched his fangs. He licked the wound lovingly, cleaning off the last of the blood that he'd spilt. She would wake in the morning and wonder how the mark on her neck had gotten there. It happened every few weeks and she'd have to cover it with make up or wear a high collared jacket.

Her face had not changed. Her eyelids fluttered in sleep and Halt brushed the pad of his fingertip over them. He let a breathy sigh escape his lips and left her to sleep. He would have to scrub his mouth until her blood left his teeth and lips when he returned to the cabin.

…...

"We have a mission."

Will nearly dropped his coffee mug. Those four words had startled him, and sent an electric buzz of excitement through him.

"A mission?! Where to? What for? Am I ready for a mission? Will we be leaving Araluen-"

"Do you ever," Halt interrupted, laying stress on the third word, "ask one question at a time?"

Will forced himself to push down his rising curiosity. Once, when he was younger in the ward, Maria had told him to take a deep breath and let it out really slowly instead of asking all the questions he was about to burst with. That was when she had surprised the wards with a batch of cookies, so those questions were a little less important, and a little easier to quell than his current ones. Even so, he did his best to take the biggest breath he could and let it whistle past his teeth.

Halt was watching him strangely. "Are you having trouble breathing?" the ranger inquired. "Perhaps you should see a healer."

Will flushed. "No, no, I'm fine." He was fidgeting in his seat now. It was just before sunrise and Redmont's rangers were eating breakfast around their kitchen table.

"I suppose I should answer your questions," Halt drawled, reading his apprentice's impatience. Will nodded eagerly, his hair flopping around his face as his head bobbed up and down. Halt raised an eyebrow.

"Then again..." the ranger mused.

"Just tell me!" Will burst out, hopping up and down in his seat.

Halt hid a smile. "We're going to the village of Selsey, on the coast near Redmont. Do you know the place?"

Will hesitated. "I've heard of it," he said.

"And what have you heard about it?"

Will shrugged. "That it's a village. Um, it's called Selsey. And, er, it's on the coast near Redmont."

Halt raised the eyebrow again. "Well, that's fascinating," he said, his voice layered with sarcasm. "I'm sure you know all about the mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Will's eyes were as wide as saucers. Mermaids were in his book of magical creatures, but he hadn't ever worried about them because he'd never been to the coast before. They weren't like the land creatures, that people feared would appear in the forest at night.

"That's right. Mermaids."

Halt tipped out the dregs of his coffee. He debated whether to make another cup, then reluctantly decided against it. If he knew his apprentice, and he believed he did after the months they'd spent together, there would be an enslaught of questions coming his way. He'd have to answer them, then they'd have to pack, and start riding out to Selsey village. There probably wasn't time for a second cup of coffee.

"Will we see any mermaids? What's the mission about? Will there be fighting? Are-"

Halt held up his hand for silence. "Please refrain from asking so many questions," he sighed. "Yes, we will see mermaids. If you stay quiet for a minute, I'll tell you about the mission."

Selsey was a port village, on the east coast where there was an abundance of mermaids. Will knew from his book on magical creatures that mermaids were technically light creatures. But he also knew that they were one of those light creatures that humans despised and feared. For although they apparently meant no harm (or at least that was what the book claimed), they were said to be so beautiful they could lure men into the ocean to drown, so soulful in their singing that women would tear up and run to them, so delightfully mysterious that young children would try to get a closer look. In other words, they were dangerous.

Strange drownings had been occuring in Selsey, so people naturally assumed it was the fault of a mermaid. That was where the rangers came in. They had been commissioned to find the mermaid responsible (if there was one) and kill it.

"But if there's an abundance of mermaids in Selsey, why is it only now that there's a problem?" Will asked. Halt nodded, signalling the question to be an acceptable one.

"Mermaids are shy," he explained. "They will very rarely venture anywhere near people. Selsey is built near a natural cove that has been a home to mermaids for thousands of years. No human goes there, and very few Selsey mermaids will surface anywhere else."

"One has now," Will said, mostly to himself. Halt shrugged.

"There are always exceptions to the general rules. As you say, there's a good chance a mermaid has decided to surface multiple times in the port." He stood up, gesturing for the apprentice to follow him. Their mottled cloaks were hanging by the door and he swung his over his shoulders, pulling the hood up to shade his face. "Anyway, we'll find out when we get there."

…...

The end of the week came, and Horace still hadn't caught any magical creatures. Nor had he found Alda's sword. He had come to the conclusion that Halt must have it. Damn. No way to get it back then.

Come sunday night, when he knew he had failed the test, he did his best to avoid the three second years. It was no good; they cornered him in the dining hall, marched him outside and forced him to stand in the biting wind. His woollen scarf ruffled around his neck, his toes curling even through his thick socks.

"Where's my sword?" was the first question Alda asked. Horace forced himself not to bow down. He kept his breathing even and calm. He did not let them notice the accelerated thumping in his chest.

"I lost it," he said evenly. Alda's face was turning purple with rage- or maybe that was the cold. Either way, the colour was not flattering.

"What do you mean, you lost it? That was my father's sword!"

Horace bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said. He was uncomfortably aware that the three boys all had practise swords, while he was empty handed, and they had fanned out around him. "The ranger stole it," he added, half hoping some of Alda's rage would switch to Halt. No such luck.

"Did you at least kill a magical creature?" Bryn asked. Alda's teeth were grinding together, his knuckles were white on his practise sword. Horace watched him closely in his peripheral vision.

"No," he answered. Bryn scoffed and Alda snarled.

"You lost my father's sword for nothing!" he spat. He raised his practise weapon above his head. Horace tensed, ready to avoid the blow. So he was taken by surprise when Jerome was the one who whipped his cane across Horace's broad shoulders. The first year apprentice howled in agony and dropped to the ground.

There was no mercy to be had. The second years pummelled him. Blow after blow reigned down. His ears were ringing; there was metallic blood in his mouth. He thought he must have bitten his lip, but he was too dizzy to recall the moment he'd done it.

Horace's mind could not bear to remain there, on the bloody stones, with the crack of the canes against his back. He drifted away, but it was not to happier times. No, he was thinking of his father, who had died in battle. Is this what it's like dad? Horace wondered with surprising clarity. Does it hurt this much to die?

He was inches away from a dreamy smell of moist earth and wheat fields, freshly baked bread and whuffling pigs. He knew he wasn't really there, and yet, he could reach out a hand in his mind- a childs tiny hand- and pick up an apple that had fallen from a tree. He could turn and spot his mother beckoning to him. Her skirt billowed around her ankles, a crisp white apron covered her front, but he could not raise his head any higher. He could not see her face.

With a start, Horace realised Alda, Bryn and Jerome had finished. He heard the clomp of their footsteps as they left him. With a groan, he managed to drag himself up. A light rain had begun to fall, rolling down his ripped shirt and raw back.

He staggered back to his dormitory. For a moment, he had a flashback to the ward, where Maria would fill a tub of steaming water for him and the others to bath in. Horace would very much like a hot bath right now. Too bad this was not the ward, but a hard battleschool.

He rinsed the blood from his face. His lip was swollen and he hoped it would go down by morning, or else the instructors would think he'd been in a fight. In a way, he guessed he had.

Horace slipped under the cool sheets of his bed. His torso ached and his head was still spinning. The steady snoring of his roomates was almost drowned out by the beating of his own heart, as he rested his chin on his chest, and tried to fight back tears as the musty smell of his parents' farm came back to him. He could have grown up on that farm, if not for the dark creatures.

…...

They reached Selsey late in the evening. It was a typical fishing port. Boats bobbed up and down in the water. A rusty old wharf jutted out. The beach was littered with dark clumps of seaweed and driftwood, and the air wreaked of salt and rotting fish.

Halt led the way to the cluster of buildings. Rope dangled from fences, fishing rods leaned against the crooked wooden walls, and in one house, a whale bone was on display.

The inn was the only two story building. They booked a room and bedded down the horses. Then Halt instructed his apprentice to stay there while he reported in to the head man of the village- Wilfred was his name.

Strictly speaking, Selsey wasn't a part of Araluen. It was an in between little village- neither Hibernian or Araluen, just its own little place. But it was close enough to know about rangers and when a stray mermaid started frightening them, they came to Araluen for help.

Will found himself a table in the tavern below the inn. He chose one where his back was against the wall, a habit he had learned from Halt. The serving girl approached him with caution. Her face was rather pale, he noticed.

"H-hello, sir. H-ow are y-you today?" she stammered. Her lips were quivering.

"I'm excellent today," Will answered, vaguelly concerned at her manner. He glanced around the room to see if anyone was threatening her, but the people that were looking in his direction all seemed worried. "What's on the menu for tonight?"

She swallowed thickly. Her hands were shaking. "There's-no-menu," she gabbled. "We-just-have-snapper-with-lemon-and-salad-please-don't-turn-me-into-a-toad!"

By now, the whole room was watching the apprentice ranger, and if he'd hoped to go unnoticed, that plan was ruined now. Halt had once warned him that people were strange about rangers, but he'd never seen a fear like this directed at him.

"I'm not a sorceror," Will assured her. Just a werewolf, he added in his mind. "I can't turn you ino a toad. Even if I could, I wouldn't, because snapper sounds wonderful."

"I'll g-get it for you then sir," the serving girl hurried away, tripping over her own feet in her haste. One of the locals helped her up and she thanked him, shot a furtive glance over her shoulder at Will, then hurried behind the bar to talk to the chef.

Later, Will told Halt about the encounter. This was when they were sitting cross legged on their beds, the window open to allow fresh air in and a candle burning between them.

Halt sighed. "Yes, people are afraid of rangers. That fear is always more potent when they're having trouble with magical creatures."

"Like Selsey and their mermaid," Will guessed and Halt nodded at him once.

"You'll have to get used to it," he said. He stretched and yawned. "Anyway, I think it's time we got some sleep." The bed sprang up as the ranger left it for his own one.

Will snuggled under the thick woollen blankets. He couldn't get the serving girl out of his mind. If Alyss knew he was a werewolf, would she look at him the same way? What about Jenny and George? Could he ever tell anyone? Maybe he was destined to be alone. Well, he had Halt. Halt knew. Halt didn't care.

"Halt?" he asked on an impulse. The ranger was lying on his side, his back to Will. He grunted in response. Will took it as a sign to keep talking. "Have you ever told anyone about you being a...you know...a vampire?" He lowered his voice to a whisper at the last word, just in case someone was listening.

Halt was silent for so long Will thought he must have gone to sleep. Eventually, he murmured, "I've told fellow rangers. No one outside the corps knows."

Will bit his lip. Perhaps that meant it was a bad idea to tell Alyss. "Why didn't you tell anyone outside the corps?"

Halt rolled over to face him. His dark eyes looked eery in the fading candle light. "They wouldn't understand," he explained. "But in the corps, we're all magical. We have no prejudice towards each other."

Will stared up at the ceiling. He hated the idea of hiding something so big from Alyss, and yet, he had never felt compelled to tell her before. Then again, before his fifteenth, he had never transformed. It had never seemed real.

He remembered Alyss's mentor, Pauline, and the fact that he'd seen he portrait beside Halt's bed. That seemed too intimate to be a gesture merely between fellow craftmasters.

"What about Lady Pauline?" Will asked. Halt's eyes darkened.

"What about her?"

"Does she know?" He was getting a sense that he really should shut up, but Will's sense of curiosity was not one that could be extinguished easily, and he was impulsive enough to ask all his questions without thinking them through.

"No," Halt said shortly.

"Do you...you know?" He really shouldn't be asking. Will sensed this line of questioning was out of bounds. Even so, he couldn't surpress his curiosity.

"Do I what?" Halt bit off each word as he said it. His voice was layered with winter frost.

"Love her," Will clarified weakly. "Do you love her?"

Silence.

Eventually, Halt asked, "Where did you get that idea from?"

Will knew if he confessed to sneaking around his mentor's room and seeing the portrait, he would get a hiding and god alone knows what other awful punishments. He also knew better than to point out Halt had just answered a question with another question, something the ranger outspokenly hated. Halt was already looking angry, and Will didn't want to have the full force of that anger directed at him.

"Nevermind," he said. "It's just that Lady Pauline is Alyss's mentor, so I thought...well, it would be cool if you...well, nevermind."

Halt stared at him for a long moment. "I assure you there is nothing of the kind between myself and Pauline. Now go to sleep, we have a long day ahead of us tommorrow."

**Didn't know how to end that one. Hm, review please? Also, just a by the by kind of question, if I posted an original novel on Amazon ebooks, would anyone be interested in buying it? I'm really trying to start getting my writing out in the world. My brothers even going to make me a website, which is really cool. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"It's an unusual case," Halt said softly. The woman, who went by the name Bridget, buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking in unsuppressed sobs.

Will found this extremely awkward. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or do in this kind of situation. It was their second day in Selsey and they had gotten ahold of Bridget, one of the mother's whose child had drowned. They were sitting around her kitchen table, nursing cups of herbal tea, while they interviewed her- or rather, Halt interviewed her, while Will shuffled his feet under the table.

"How so?" Bridget managed to choke out between sobs. Halt gently rested his hand on top of hers, squeezing it lightly.

"Most of the strange drownings were children," he explained, still speaking in the soft tone that one did to someone who might break at any second. "That's unusual. Mermaids will usually target men if they are going to drown anyone." Earlier in the morning, Halt had explained that if the mermaid was good, it should have noticed it was killing people and it would stop returning to Selsey. He suspected it might be causing these drownings deliberately. Will had puzzled over this for a while, because mermaids were supposed to be creatures of the 'light'.

Bridget clenched her fists. Her body was shaking. "Then why my son?" she whispered.

"I don't know that yet," Halt told her. "Perhaps he was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But anything you can tell us will help."

Bridget brushed tears off her cheeks. Her eyes were redrimmed, and it was all too obvious that she had not slept for days.

"You'll find this mermaid, right?" she asked, spitting out the word 'mermaid'. "You'll avenge my son? Please, ranger, avenge him!"

"We'll do everything we can," Halt said calmly. "Can you tell us what happened on the day you found out?"

Bridget nodded. She took a moment to collect herself and had to swallow several times. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper, and it cracked at times."It was just a normal day. My husband was out fishing. I was at home doing the laundry and caring for the kids. Aiden always like to play at the river. He told me he was heading out there with some friends." She took a deep breath; pressed her trembling hands together. "I should have known. There were all these rumours about the mermaid, but I just didn't think and I let him go." She heaved a shuddering sigh that rocked her whole body.

"It's not your fault," Halt assured her. "You couldn't have known this would happen."

Bridget managed a small smile. "Thank you ranger," she said. "Anyway, I knew something was wrong when he wasn't home for dinner. Aiden was never late. Never. So I got my husband and his friends to look for him and they...they..." She couldn't finish, but Halt didn't need her too. He already knew Aidens body had been found in the sea. Which raised another question.

"Aiden went to the river, not the coast?" Halt asked. There was a wide river that flowed out to the ocean, and provided a popular picnic spot for Selsey residents.

"Yes," Bridget nodded. "I'm sure of it." In that case, the body must have drifted out to the ocean. She saw Halt's cocked head and explained, "there was a stray horse around there. A black mare. Aiden would always describe it to me and he liked to see it. He always asked if he could keep it."

"What about the other kids?" Will put in. "You said Aiden went with his friends to the river."

Bridget swirled her tea. The steam had long since faded as it cooled, but the cup remained full. "They were never found."

There seemed to be nothing to say, and all three of them fell into a tense silence as the words lingered. Will closed his eyes briefly, to pay respect to the young kids- who had aged around eight years old according to reports- whose lives had been cut short.

"Well, thank you for your time," Halt said eventually, standing up and offering his hand for her to shake. Bridget clung to it, evidently savouring the comfort she got from physical contact.

"Find that mermaid, ranger," she said.

"Like I said, we'll do our best," Halt told her. "You've helped a lot."

As they mounted their horses and rode away from the house, Halt appeared to be deep in thought. Will glanced at the hard line of his mentor's jaw.

"What now?" he asked.

Halt was shaken from his reverie. He stretched his arms up, held them to the sun for a moment, then let them drop back to his sides.

"I'm thinking we might split up," he said. This alarmed Will- he wasn't confident that he had the ability to handle situations on his own, and he was in a town foreign to him.

"Split up?" he repeated.

Halt's eyebrow twitched. "Yes, Will. I just said that. Split up."

"Why? What am I supposed to do?"

Halt rolled his eyes. "You can stop asking questions for a start."

Will shut his mouth. He was about to retort that if he didn't ask, he'd never found out anything, but he realised that Halt didn't answer his questions anyway.

"Good," Halt nodded and proceeded to say nothing further. Will groaned aloud.

"Halt! _Please!"_ he whined. "I want to know what's happening."

Halt turned in the saddle to hide the shadow of a grin forming on his face. "Alright," he conceeded. "I'm going to meet with the rest of the families whose children have either drowned, or disappeared. You, on the other hand, are going to take off that ranger cloak, go to the tavern to listen to conversations and see what you can pick up on. Then we'll compare notes tonight, and tommorrow morning we'll be ready to take action."

Will wasn't convinced he'd find anything out at the tavern. Then again, he was a bit useless with the families, sitting around while Halt spoke to them. So he supposed it was a better use of his time to eavesdrop at the tavern.

They split up, Halt heading to the western side of Selsey, Will towards the coast where the tavern was. He bundled up his cloak into his saddle pack, and upon reaching his destination, he led Tug to the stables, then found himself a suitable seat. As he had the previous evening, he picked a table where his back was to the wall.

Halibut was lunch for the day. As Selsey was a coastal town, fish was plentiful, and the tavern rarely served anything else. Will dug in, quietly listening to the people around him.

"What do you reckon about that mermaid?" Will perked up, subtly glancing over to the nearby table. Three men- all roughly shaven and tattoed- and one woman.

"Dunno," one of the men said. "Maybe there isn't one."

"Oh there's a mermaid alright." This was a fourth man who had overheard the conversation and moved over to the table. He was obviously a local as the others all greeted him and addressed him as Lochlan.

"I've seen it with my own eyes," Lochlan said. Will took more interest in him now. He was thick muscled, tall, and had curly hair and a bushy beard. A tattoe of an anchor decorated his face around his eye, and his rugged clothes along with the coil of rope over his shoulder and the filleting knife at his belt marked him as a fishermen. Most of the men in Selsey were.

"You've seen it, Lochlan?" the woman asked. "Do tell." The others pulled out a chair to make room for him. Will took care to eat slowly, so he would not finish before the story.

"Just the other day, as I was walking along the beach, I saw the most beautiful woman," Lochlan said. "Just a glimpse it was, but that was enough to have me chasing over the rocks to her. But by the time I reached her, she slipped away, and I swear I then saw the glitter of scales as her tail flicked up when she dived beneath the waves." Will snuck a glance and saw that Lochlan's eyes had fogged up. "I very nearly dived in after her," he added.

"What did she look like?" The woman asked.

Lochlan's face screwed up. "I can hardly remember," he admitted. "Like I said, I just caught a glimpse. She had long hair though-blue or green or something, and scales for skin." He leaned in closer. "You know what else? As she swam off, I saw that she was headed for Niall's house."

"Really?" the woman asked. "You think Niall is in on the killings?"

"Wouldn't be surprised if he were," one of the other men grunted. "Niall's always been a loner. Who knows what goes on in his head?"

Will could barely contain his excitement. He'd actually found out something useful! And when Halt asked about it, he decided he would reply with, "do you ever stop asking questions?" in his sternest and most grim voice. He'd drag out the moment, just like Halt did.

Maybe he should find out even more. He could interview Niall. Will nodded to himself and moved over to the bar. He couldn't contain his curiosity- he had to know what was going on with the mermaid.

"Thanks for the meal," Will said, sliding a few coins over the counter. The owner of the tavern accepted them graciously.

"Thanks for coming, stranger," he said. He was wary of outsiders like any townsperson in hard times, but he was also always happy to earn a little extra.

"Listen," Will said. "I'm related to someone who lives here. Niall's his name." He held his breath, waiting. If what the other man had said about this Niall fellow being a loner, then perhaps they wouldn't know much about him.

"Ah, Niall," the tavern keeper said at length. "Really? Are you his nephew?"

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him for years," Will lied. "I wanted to surprise him. Can you tell me where he lives?"

As the tavern keeper said, Niall lived right by the ocean, on a wooden platform that acted as his own private wharf. The house itself was in dire need of a fresh paint job, and from what Will could see through the windows, it was cluttered with knick-knacks like painted vases and clay scuptures.

Will swung his ranger cloak back around his shoulders and drew the hood up over his face. He took a deep breath, then rapped on the door.

The man who opened it was different from the other Selsey men. He had no tattoes or visible scars, his skin was not tanned from the sun; rather it was a milky white with an unhealthy yellow hue. His nose was crooked and his brown hair reached below his shoulders.

"Who're you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ranger Will." Will offered his hand, but Niall stared at him and refused to take it. "I'm here about the mermaid."

"I don't know anything about that," Niall said, and slammed the door. Will was affronted by the action and he knocked again on the door.

"I'm a king's ranger," he called. "I act with the king's authority! Open up!" This was something he'd heard Halt say many times before. Perhaps Halt just had a natural aura of king's-authority-ness about him, because whenever he said such things, people hurried to do his bidding. Will must have lacked that king's-authority-ness, because Niall did not open the door.

Will took a deep breath. His impulsive nature had gotten him into trouble many times before, and this was not to be the time he fought against it. He hopped over the railing onto the wooden platform above the rolling waves, and crept around the side of the house.

The apprentice wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find- he was merely following his instincts, and those insincts told him that there was something to see he continued around the side of the house.

At the end of the platform, five steps led down to sea level. Will could see the top of Niall's head poking up from where he was kneeling on the lowest step. A little hesitant, Will walked as silently as he could to stand behind Niall. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath.

With her delicate hands in Niall's, the mermaid was floating in the sea in front of him. Her cherub like face was decorated with glittering aqua scales, shimmering over her high cheekbones. A delighted smile was formed by plump lips- and yet it was not a human like smile. Perhaps it was the blue tinge to her lips, but the smile reminded Will of the simplistic grin of a dog, or horse, and when it widened, he realised that her teeth were pointed.

The mermaid's eyes were vivid green, and they turned on Will now. Her hair seemed to shift from blue to green in the sun, and it framed her face as it floated to the water, where it spread out like seaweed in the rippling waves.

She lifted one hand from Niall's-her fingers were webbed- and pointed at Will. The sound she uttered sounded much like bubbles popping. Niall jerked up and spun around, her eye's widening in horror.

"Leave Shell!" he urged. "Swim away." But the mermaid, whom he had called Shell, was busy regarding Will with curiosity.

Niall gritted his teeth. "Don't kill her!" he said. "Please," he added.

Will hesitated. How could he harm her? She was so very beautiful. And besides, he could not kill in cold blood.

"She killed all those children," Will said. He was reminding himself as well as Niall.

"I told her not to!" Niall insisted. "I heard the rumours and then I knew it must have been her...I honestly thought she just came here to see me. I kept telling her with every one killed- don't do it Shell, stop doing it. But she doesn't understand." With a shock, Will realised Niall was crying.

Shell pulled herself up a step, smiling a toothy smile at Will. Her tail flicked up out of the water, spraying them with sea foam.

"I love her," Niall whispered. "She's my mermaid. She's mine! I'll fight you if you try to hurt her."

Will raised his hands. "Whoa, whoa." He was starting to feel a bit out of his depth here. If only Halt was around. He recalled his mentor telling him about how there was a mermaid colony further along the coast. "Look, maybe we don't need to kill her. Maybe we can get her to go back home." He glanced at Shell. "Can she speak araluen?"

Niall shook his head. "She just bubbles and gurgles. And if she goes home, I'm coming with her."

"That's not you talking," Will tried. "It's the magic. She's weaved a spell over you."

"Lies!" Niall roared. Shell burbled in alarm as the man seized Will's collar. "What do you know? You're a boy! A boy! You know nothing about love!"

Shell made another bubbling noise. She held out her hand to Will as she began to sing. This did nothing for the apprentice. In fact, he wasn't sure what all the fuss was. Sure, she was beautiful, but he would not follow her to the depths of the ocean.

It didn't occur to him that her charms might not work on him because he too was a magical creature. Even without the magic, he couldn't bring himself to just waltz over and kill her. Not when she was watching him with such fascination, not feeling threatened at all.

Then Shell flicked her tail again and disappeared under the water. Niall staggered towards her, and she reappeared some distance away. Raising a webbed hand, she beckoned to them.

"She wants me to go with her!" Niall cried. Will grabbed his arms before he could throw himself into the ocean.

"No!" he said. "Niall, we can follow her along the shore."

Surprisingly, the mermaid nodded her head. So maybe she could understand araluen after all. Either way, Niall and Will ran along the shore as she swam along.

They were heading for the river, Will realised. The place where she had killed all those children.

But he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he just let Niall run to his death, so he whistled to Tug and the little horse joined him in chasing the mermaid.

**A little rushed was this chappie...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

This was ridiculous, Will thought to himself as he chased after Niall and Shell. Tug trotted beside them- Will hadn't wanted to leave his faithful horse behind. The mermaid's tail flicked up water, glittering briefly in the sun, and making it clear where she was.

"If she leaves the coast, I'm swimming after her," Niall muttered. He raised his voice to call, "where are you going Shelly?" in a sweet manner opposed to his gruff voice. It was almost humouress, the devotion he had towards his mermaid.

A few people who were on the coast glanced up in alarm. There were several calls of, "is that the mermaid?" and "Where's it going?" They spat the word 'mermaid' with the same hatred as Bridget had when Halt and Will interviewed her.

The river branched in from the sea, and the top of Shell's blue-green hair poked up above the water as she waited for Niall and Will to catch up. Then she continued to swim down the river.

"Niall, listen to me!" Will tried. "This is where she killed all those children. Whatever you do, don't go in the water!"

Niall shook his head. "She didn't mean to! And most of them haven't even been found. They must not be dead. They must be under the water, in a paradise of coral and shells, playing hide and seek in the reef and the mermaids floating around them."

An image came to Will's mind of children laughing, of the mermaids holding them with their scaly arms, and the bright reds and greens of an ocean forest- but he knew this was only a fantasy. Children could not survive underwater, and there was no magic he had ever heard of that would give them gills.

No, the mermaids did not live in a paradise reef. They lived in the rough waters of the rugged coast, where the waves crashed against the rocks and the depths were murky grey. Halt had described that as the ideal habitat for mermaids, not the havens people imagine them to live in. He had told Will that what many people forget- and what Niall had forgotten- was that mermaids were fish.

They were not the same as vampires, or werewolves, or sorcerors- who were all people who happened to have magical ability. Mermaids were animals, and they thought of people in the same way a trained dolphin thought of it's master.

"You can't have a life with her anyway," Will insisted. "She cannot breath the air- she can just hold her breath for hours. And you cannot breath in water."

"We'll find a way!" Niall told him. "Love conquers all." But it wasn't love. It was simply the curse of a man's lust, and a mermaid's charm.

Along the bank, they spotted a small girl, perhaps seven years of age. A ribbon bound her hair, her frock was pink, and her shoes shiny. A much loved and spoiled child. She was holding out an apple (Tug's ears pricked up at this) and smiling at a black mare. That must be the stray horse Bridget had spoken of, Will realised. It must have been in the river, because its mane dripped with water.

Shell bobbed up and down in the water. A sick feeling rose in Will as he realised she was after the child. Niall must have come to the same conclusion as he was looking panicked.

Tug whinnied uneasily. He nudged Will's arm, and took an uncertain pace towards the black mare.

"You're right, Tug," Will muttered. "We have to get the girl out of here before she sees Shell." He ran towards the girl, calling for her attention. But she was captivated by the horse, and didn't look up. At least that meant she wasn't looking at Shell, Will thought.

To the apprentice's surprise, Tug trotted with him. Niall remained staring longingly out at his mermaid in the river.

"Excuse me!" he called to the girl. He was right by her now, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. "My name is Will. Can you come with me for a minute?" The girl's eyes were vacant, but a smile formed on her lips.

"In a minute," she said. "I'm feeding the horse." The black mare didn't seem to be taking much interest in the apple. It nosed around at Will, and the apprentice ranger raised a hand to push the inquiring nose away from his face, when Tug reared up on his hind legs and whinnied.

The black mare snorted. She shook her mane, spraying the droplets of water, and yet still more beads clung to the fine hairs. Tug butted Will's shoulder as if to say, 'get back' and he charged at the other horse.

Stunned, Will was slow to react. He tried to call his horse back, but Tug was chasing the mare. He slammed into her side- and for just a second, there was a flash of white, during which Will thought he saw a shimmering golden horn on Tug's forehead. In contrast, the black mare seemed to have a more greasy mane hanging like limp seaweed, and glowing green eyes.

"Tug, get back!" Will ordered. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew if Tug got into a fight, he would defend his horse. There was a wound in the mare's side, exactly the same rounded shape as Tug's horn that was sometimes there, and sometimes not. As Will watched, green slime filled the wound and turned back into the black hide of the mare.

The apprentice unslung his recurve bow and nocked an arrow. Wounds like that didn't magically heal on a normal horse, and if this strange black mare was some sort of magical creature, than Tug was in trouble. The little girl was clinging to his leg as he drew and fired. The arrow ripped through the mare's side- but more of the green slime healed the wounds.

"Tug!" Will called again. He wouldn't be able to stand it if his horse was injured. The black mare whinnied in outrage at her attackers. She charged past Tug and headed straight towards Will. The apprentice swept the girl into his arms and and pushed her away. He had no chance of outrunning the horse, he could only hope to avoid it.

He just managed to dive out the way as the mare came galloping past. She swerved towards the river, right to where Shell was bobbing. Niall reached out to stop her, his fingertips grazing her flank. Where they touched, his flash melded into the horse, and he screamed as he tried and failed to pull his arm away. He was dragged after the charging mare.

Will shot again, and again it was no use. Tug didn't chase after the mare anymore- his master was safe from immediate danger. The little girl was wailing.

A thrum, a whistling sound, and an arrow cut through the air. It hit the mare right behind the left shoulder, the force of a ninety-pound longbow driving it into the beast's heart. Just as a hoof touched the water, the mare burst into green slime. Niall's hand was freed and he held it to his chest, shaken.

Halt on Abelard reigned in. He swung down from the saddle and moved over to Will's position.

"Alright?" he asked. Will nodded. He lifted the little girl, and she clung to his neck, sobbing in fear. Tug and Abelard nickered to each other.

"I found the mermaid," Will said. Halt frowned.

"There is no mermaid," he said. Now Will was even more confused.

"What do you meam? I found her! She cast a spell over Niall. She's over there in the river." He pointed to the shimmering blue-green hair. Halt's frown deepened.

"So she is," he said. "I suppose the kelpie was invading her waters and she wanted help killing it."

"Kelpie?" Will asked.

"That's right," Halt answered. He moved over to where Niall was still clutching his rescued hand. "I thought it was strange from the beginning when only children disappeared. Even more so that the children were at the river, rather than the sea. When Bridget told us about the black mare, I was almost ninety percent sure."

Shell drifted over to them, gurgling happily. She dragged herself onto the land by her elbows, her tail shimmering behind her, and wrapped her arms around Niall's neck. He hugged her back. Halt closed his eyes quickly.

"Halt?" Will asked.

"I don't want to fall under her spell," he answered. "Anyway, a kelpie has never been seen in these parts, particularly so close to the coast. They usually prefer the still lakes and swamps of Hibernia. That's why I had to ask the other families- see if any of them mentioned the black mare. When they all confirmed that their children loved the horse, I knew it had to be a kelpie."

"So it wasn't my Shell!" Niall exclaimed. "I knew she'd never hurt a fly!"

"Perhaps not," Halt said. "But we are still going to send her back to her home."

"_I_ am her home!" Niall protested. Halt shook his head.

"It's for your own good," he said sternly. "You can't have a relationship with a mermaid. It's always one sided."

"You don't know anything!" Niall yelled. "You could never understand the love we share!"

"If you love her, you will let her return to the wild," Halt said. "I don't believe she will come back anymore now that the kelpie is dead."

Niall trembled as he held his mermaid close to him. "If she leaves, I leave with her."

"I won't allow that," Halt told him. "Will? You don't seem to have fallen for her. Carry her out to the deeper parts and make her leave."

"I'll do it!" Niall offered.

"You'll chase after her and drown," Halt dismissed the notion.

Niall hollored and clung to her, but Halt twisted his arms behind his back and forced him to let go so Will could take her. Shell seemed quite happy to shift her hold to Will's neck, her tail skimming the water as Will waded into the river. The apprentice certainly wasn't under her spell- he was aware that she was beautiful, but he was also aware that her skin felt like sandpaper and she smelt uncomfortably fishy.

When the river lapped around his waist, her gently set her down. "Goodbye Shell," he said. "It was nice meeting you." She burbled, then dived under the waves.

Halt was right as usual, Will reflected. It was a one sided love between a human and a mermaid. Shell had no sorrow about her as she swam away from Selsey for the last time. As for Niall, he cried and had such a tantrum that Halt lost patience and knocked him out with a striker.

"What exactly is a kelpie?" Will asked, as they rode away from the river. The little girl was sharing his saddle and was cuddling up to him, and Niall was slung over the back of Halt's saddle.

"Exactly? I wouldn't know," Halt shrugged. "But they take the form of a horse, like you saw. They attract young children and try to entice the children to ride them. When the children touch them, they can't move, and then the kelpie takes them back into the water where they drown."

"Is it accidental?" Will asked. "You told me mermaids don't intend to charm their victoms."

"No," Halt answered grimly. "Kelpies feed on the children. They devour them. That's why most of the bodies weren't found. I guess this one was full once it ate Aiden's friends and didn't want him."

Will felt the little girl shiver. He wrapped his arms around her. "That's horrible," he murmured.

Halt shrugged. "It's over now. In Selsey, at least."

Later, Will found out that one of the mothers Halt spoke to had a neice who had also talked about the horse. He's gone straight to her house, and when her mother had told her she was down at the river, Halt had ridden after her.

They dropped the little girl (whose name was Madeline) off at her house. Then they headed to Niall's, where they tucked the unconscious man in bed.

"What's going to happen to him?" Will asked. Halt told him that the mermaid's charm would wear off after a while, and until then they informed the headman, Wilfred, of Selsey of Niall's state of mind. Wilfred would keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't jump into the sea, until he recovered from the magic.

"It'll be good for him," Halt said, sensing that his apprentice felt a little guilty for sending the mermaid away. "He can focus on meeting a real woman."

Will never found out if Niall ever found a true lover for himself. That afternoon, they began the ride back to Redmont. Even though he was tired from the day's activities, Will was eager to be back in his fief, where the breeze didn't carry salt and there were no fishy women or horses made of green slime.

There was just one thing that Halt was still curious about. He pointed out that not once had Shell's charm affected Will.

"She was very beautiful," Will admitted. "But she was also a fish. Maybe it's just because I knew that, and I was prepared for it?"

"No, that doesn't make a difference," Halt argued. "I knew a ranger who got caught under the spell, despite being fully aware it wasn't real love. Then again, who are we to say what real love is?"

"What happened to him?" Will asked.

"Who?"

"The ranger who got caught under the spell."

"Oh, that idiot," Halt waved a careless hand to signify that it really didn't matter either way. "He recovered eventually. He's now the commandant of the ranger corps." He turned his head to study his young friend. "Perhaps it didn't work because you are too young," he suggested. "Or maybe it has something to do with you being a werewolf."

The shadows were beginning to get longer, and the clopping of hooves had become a familiar and peaceful sound to them both. Behind them, the town of Selsey and all its water creatures disappeared behind the trees.

"Anyway," Halt let the matter drop, "It's high time we got back to Redmont."

…...

Horace was disappointed to find that his bruises did not fade overnight. His lip remained swollen, and even though he kept his head down during classes, it still attracted many curious glances.

At lunch time, he spotted the three second years at the cafeteria. Horace took a deep breath and approached them.

"Hey," he said.

"Come back for more, did you?" Alda snarled.

Horace met the older boy's eyes. Don't back down, he told himself. This is for the family you should have grown up with, but didn't.

"Actually, I came to ask if you would give me another chance," he said.

"You already failed," Bryn dismissed the notion.

"And you lost my fathers sword!" Jerome added.

"Please," Horace begged. "I hate magical creatures as much as any of you. They killed my family." The raw pain in his eyes burned like a flame behind the blue of his iris. "I have to do this." His voice was no more than a whisper now, in case there were eavesdroppers around. "You three are my best chance at making a difference. You're my entry to the True Guard."

Alda's lip curled in distaste. Jerome had much the same expression. Only Bryn appeared to be considering it.

Before any of them could make a decision, a messenger came for them.

"Sir Rodney wants to see all four of you in his office."

Horace bit his lip. The battlemaster wanted to see him? That could not possibly be good. He'd been hoping to get through battleschool without drawing attention from the knights in charge.

The other three had thoughts along similar paths. But there was nothing any of them could do about it, so they traipsed to Sir Rodney's office.

A desk rested in the centre in the room, behind which Rodney sat in a high backed, comfortable looking chair. Potraits of his predessors hung on the walls, symmetrically framing him to give him a look of power. Two benches had been set up on the other side of the desk, and the battlemaster indicated that the boys should sit.

For a while, he simply stared at them, his chin on his knuckles and his elbows on the desk. Horace forced himself to sit still, just in case this was some kind of test. Alda and Jerome had much less discipline- they fidgeted and shuffled their feet. Bryn didn't appear to care about the meeting. He had one leg crossed over the other and was smoothing out his collar.

"I was contacted by ranger Halt," Rodney said. Horace's heart jumped up his throat. The second years glared at him, their eyes clearly saying, 'this is all your fault."

"He seems to believe you four are in the True Guard," Rodney continued. "Is this correct?"

"The True Guard? No!" Jerome cried.

Rodney frowned. "Whether Halt is right or not, I can't have my apprentices sneaking out in the middle of the night. He has been watching the four of you since he spotted one of you outside his cabin. And I'm afraid I can see his point. Even now, one of you appears to have been in a fight."

Again, the pointed glares in Horace's direction.

"I just can't have this kind of behaviour. It's not fitting," Rodney continued. "All four of you are officially expelled from my battleschool. You have twenty four hours to leave."

That was that. Horace packed up his stuff and evacuated the battleschool. He left straight away- sticking around for twenty four hours would only make him sentimental.

The three second years were talking amongst themselves. Horace approached them and their conversation died on their lips.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked.

The three boys exchanged a glance. They nodded to each other, and Alda said, "we'll give you another chance."

"You have to come with us, though," Bryn added. "We're leaving Redmont."

"Leaving Redmont?" Horace was thrown. He'd never been outside the fief before. Redmont was where Jenny and Alyss and George were. It was where the ward was, and it harboured all of his childhood memories, from the moment he first picked up a wooden sword.

"Are you in or not?" Jerome asked. In truth, though Horace did not know it, the boys knew that the first year was a much better swordsman than all of them. They wanted him along for the extra protection he would provide, because they were cowards at heart.

Horace glanced up at the stone walls of the castle. "I'm in," he said slowly.

"Then here's what we're going to do," Alda said. "We'll steal swords from the battleswords weaponry, and we'll set out in search of all the magical creatures we can find and kill."

Horace nodded. He turned away from the castle- out of sight, out of mind, after all. The rays of sunlight lit the tips of his hair, framing his face.

"I'm in," he said again, and this time it was with much more confidence and determination.

**On a completely unrelated note to the chapter you just read, has anyone been watching American X-factor? Simon Cowell doesn't seem to age, I remember first watching him when I was little and he looked exactly the same. He's such a camera-hog. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Yeah...I gave up on the whole one chapter a day thing...I'm just not that hard working...or that motivated...(starts to feel depressed about self)**

Will soon settled back into a rythym. He woke before dawn to fill the water barrel, chop wood for the wicker basket, light the fire and make breakfast. After eating, he had archery practise until lunch, after which Halt had lessons prepared for him- mapping, tracking, unseen movement or some other ranger skill that Will was apparently never more than mediocre in.

He was never good enough for his mentor. His achery was 'slow enough for an old granny to reach him before he shot her', his silent movement was 'louder than Baron Arald's singing voice', his mapping exercises ended with, 'the battles over before you manage to lead your army through the bog'. He didn't know that Halt actually invested some thought into his original criticisms; Will just thought a little praise would go a long way.

As the weeks passed, Will learnt more and more. His book of magical creatures had notes scribbled all over it, and his ranger cloak frayed from the long hours of practise. The mottled die leaked out of the wool, until Halt had to buy a new one for his apprentice.

Not once was there a 'you're doing good, Will' or a 'excellent job' or perhaps more desirable, 'you're the most talented apprentice I know.' Will wasn't going to get his hopes up for one of those. He knew the extent of Halt's praise was 'that's a tiny bit better than terrible'.

This never stopped the apprentice from working hard, of course. At the end of the day, he didn't have the time or energy to stew over Halt's criticising manner. Besides, he had other things on his mind. Alyss, for example.

He'd arranged to meet Alyss for lunch. Will was surprised that Halt had agreed to it, but more than pleased. He stood in front of the mirror, tugging a comb through his unruly hair.

"Will?" Halt knocked on the door. "You've been in there for an hour."

Will glanced up at the interruption. He released the comb- it stuck in his hair- and he opened the door. "Sorry," he told his mentor. "I'm just getting ready to meet Alyss."

Halt raised an eyebrow. "I said you could go on the condition you practised this morning. And brushing your hair does not count as practise." He yanked the comb from his apprentice's head and Will winced as his hair was pulled. "You haven't achieved much with it in an hour," Halt added.

Will didn't point out that half of the time had been picking out clothes. He had his ranger cloak, of course, but he'd debated over whether to wear the grey tunic, or the green one, and what breeches to wear. He'd finally settled on the green with brown breeches. Now he was beginning to wonder if the grey would have been more suitable after all.

"Does it look bad?" Will asked, patting his hair.

Halt didn't answer directly. Instead he cocked his head. "What happened there?" He pointed to a shorter patch at the side of Will's head where it had been chopped off.

"I tried to trim it," Will told him.

"It looks like you ran through gorse, had a bird roost in your hair, then hacked off one side with a crooked arrow," Halt said.

Will was crestfallen. "That bad?"

"Just go eat breakfast," Halt waved him off. Will glanced back at the mirror as he was bustled out. His hair did seem a little...roughly cut...but not quite as bad as Halt had said. Besides, wasn't Halt the famous salt-and-pepper, cuts-his-beard-with-his-saxe-knife ranger? He didn't know anything about fashion.

Breakfast and practise passed in a dream. Will rode up to the castle. He found a bench to sit on while he waited for Alyss to arrive. While he sat, he ruffled his hair, and tried to arrange it so that the shorter patch was hidden behind longer strands. He wished he hadn't cut it. And he should have discarded his cloak, he decided. He looked a bit too...ranger-y.

Alyss emerged from the castle. Blonde strands of hair gleamed in the sunlight, framing her angular face delightfully. She had her white courier gown on, and a short blue cape fastened from one shoulder. A sudden rush of nervousness over took Will.

He rose to greet her and held out his arms. She embraced him- she was oh so soft, and her sweet scent of roses and cinnamon tickled his nose.

"You.." his voice caught in his throat and he had to start again. "You look..." Beautiful, stunning, so much more enchanting than he remembered, "...nice."

"Thank you," she said, pulling back from his hold. "You also look-oh lord, what have you done to your hair?"

"Um," Will paused. He wasn't going to confess to attempting to look good for her. "I ran through gorse," he said, recalling what Halt had told him.

"You ran through gorse?" Alyss repeated.

"Right and then...a bird roosted in it."

"A bird roosted in it?"

"Aha. Then I got a crooked arrow stuck in my hair and it...kind of...hacked off one side."

"Seems like an interesting life as a ranger," Alyss said, partly amused and partly wondering if it might be true. Anything could happen where rangers are concerned, after all.

"So how about you? What have you been up to?" Will asked quickly, before she could press him with more questions. As she told him how Lady Pauline had a friendly war with Nigel the scirbemaster, they mounted Tug- Will with the reigns and Alyss with her arms around his waist. There was an inn not far from the castle, where they had agreed to eat lunch.

He found himself relaxing as they rode. Why had he been so nervous? Alyss was the same girl she always had been, and his childhood friend. They were friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This is nice," Alyss said, squeezing his waist lightly. "Just the two of us spending time together."

"Yeah," Will grinned. "It's great to have a break from Halt."

Alyss chuckled- he loved her laugh; it reminded him of the waves lapping to the shore in Selsey. "Is he really that bad?"

"He never smiles," Will told her. "And he's always serious."

"Pauline's the same," Alyss agreed. "She doesn't come off as grim, but she can be a little sober."

"They're the perfect match," Will grinned. He had intended it as a joke, but he realised there was truth in the statement.

"Do you think so?" Alyss asked. "Do you think a ranger and a courier would be a good match?" The last question was said lightly, with an air of unimportance as if she was simply asking to pass the time. Will hoped there was a deeper meaning in the question and suddenly the nervousness was back. He wasn't sure how to answer that.

"Here we are, the Red Apple inn." They had arrived at their destination and it gave Will an excuse to change the subject. He helped Alyss down from the saddle. She held onto his hand a moment longer than necessary, and her grey eyes searched his. Overcome by an uncomfortable feeling that she could read his soul, he dropped her hand and awkwardly led Tug into the stable.

He may have imagined the fleeting disappointment in her eyes. But that vanished fast and they enjoyed lunch together- pork chops with apple sauce, greens and mashed potato. Afterwards, they rode back to the castle.

"Pauline will be waiting for me," Alyss said, an apologetic note in her voice.

"And Halt for me," Will agreed. They stood for a moment, an air of disatisfaction between them. Alyss kissed his cheek, her lips lingering for a moment before drawing back.

"We should do this again sometime," she said.

"Yes," Will agreed dumbly. He touched the spot where she had kissed him, his eyes wide, and she actually had the nerve to laugh.

"There's no need to look at me like that," she said. "It was a goodbye kiss. I have a mission so I won't be seeing you for a while."

That didn't stop him from blushing. "What kind of mission?" he asked, to try and ease his embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm just handing over some routine documents to Sir Carl of Seacliff." She waved a hand, dismissing the matter. "Anyway, how about dinner when I get back? I'm sure Pauline will let me. I should be back in nine days."

Will nodded automatically. "Alright. I can hopefully get Halt to agree to that."

She smiled at him; touched his arm. "Excellent. Then I'll see you eight o clock in nine days outside Red Apple inn?" She'd made the time quite late for dinner, so that they would have hours of training and their mentors probably wouldn't refuse.

"Fine by me," Will said. There was another awkward moment between them as they hesitated, neither one sure who should leave first. As she always did, Alyss elected to take the lead. She squeezed his arm, said 'goodbye then' and headed for the castle. Will watched her movements as she walked, so he saw it when she turned around and fluttered her fingertips at him. He waved in return, and when she was out of view, he turned Tug back towards the cabin.

He didn't realise until the next day, when he was shooting at targets, and Alyss was out of Redmont and heading towards Seacliff. When it came to him, he let out an audible 'damn' and he missed the next shot he fired.

"You snatched at it," Halt told him sternly. His tone left no doubt that this was not a mistake Will should be making anymore.

"Sorry," Will muttered. He missed the next shot too and lowered the bow in frustration. Halt sighed.

"You were fine just a minute ago," he said. "What, pray tell, has caused this sudden lapse of concentration?"

"I realised something," Will said.

"You realised something?" Halt repeated sardonically. "You do understand that there will be many times when you realise things during battle, and you are going to have to keep up your accuracy if you want to live."

"It was something important," Will said. Halt gestured for him to go on. "Alyss and I organised to have dinner in a week."

"And you realised this would displease me and I wouldn't let you go?"

Will shook his head. Halt frowned at him, so he said hastily, "that too, but more importantly, I realised we arranged for dinner on the night of the full moon."

…...

Horace was travelling with Alda, Bryn and Jerome. As they had planned, they had left Redmont fief and were by now just passing the boundaries of Merric fief. Alda had provided them with four horses from his fathers stable- Horace's horse was called Kicker. They'd also managed to acquire weapons from the battleschool. Four plain swords, nothing as elaborate as the one Horace had lost, as well as a spear that Jerome fancied.

When Horace had pleaded to let him join them, he'd had a vague notion of trotting nobly along on his battlehorse, his sword glittering in the sun, and thankful girls in his debt. He'd imagined that they would slay magical creatures left and right, saving the innocent townsfolk. When the gratitude and praise had been received, the four of them would move on in stoic but companiable silence.

This could not be further from the truth.

In actual fact, his muscles burned from the hours of riding. Their clothes were torn and travel stained. They stank of sweat from days without bathing. They did not enter any towns, nor did they meet any pretty girls. The only company Horace had was the three second years- and it was sour company. He couldn't relate to their discussions, he didn't have much in common with them, and he was forced to conclude that he really did not like any of the three.

All in all, Horace was miserable. This would have been bearable if at least he was sacrificing his happiness for the good of Araluen, but they were yet to find a single magical creature. When Horace pressed, Bryn told him that they'd had success in the past and not to worry, they'd soon find some unnatural creature to dispatch.

"You'll kill it when we do," Bryn told him, "because you still have to prove yourself."

Now, as they passed Merric fief, Alda turned his horse. "How about we stay at an inn tonight?" he suggested. They were all tired of camping outdoors, and of the stale bread and dried beef that made up their diet.

Alda's father was a noble, and he'd given the boys a decent amount of money, so they had no trouble affording a bed for the night. They ordered a meal and sat around a table in the smoky tavern that connected to the inn. Horace was thrilled to finally eat a good meal- roast duck glazed with plum sauce, potatos smothered in butter, carrots and cauliflower.

"Guys," Bryn whispered, leaning in. "That's a fire elf over there."

Horace, Alda and Jerome followed his gaze. The elf was sitting at a table, his back to a wall and chatting to the blushing serving girl. He was dressed in plain woollen clothes, and a knitted hat that was pulled over his head. Probably to hide pointed ears, Horace realised.

"How can you tell?" Horace asked. Jerome was as alert as a puppy, a wide grin spreading over his face and a nasty gleam in his eyes.

"His eyes," Bryn explained. He was highly educated in magical creatures, and he always knew what to look for. "They're red."

Horace looked again and realised that the elf did indeed have red eyes.

"We'll ambush it," Alda said. "We'll follow it and ambush it."

So when the fire elf paid the tavern keeper and left the inn, they followed in his wake. He headed for the stables where he paused to feed an apple to a shaggy horse. Alda nodded at his companions. No one else was in the stable; no one inside the inn would hear anything over the conversation and music. It was the perfect time.

"Hey you!" Jerome stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Freak!"

The fire elf glanced up pleasantly. "Can I help you?" he asked. Despite the pleasant words, Horace thought there was a glitter of something dangerous in those red eyes.

"You're a fire elf!" Alda spoke up. The boys fanned out, trapping the elf in the stall with his horse.

"Why, yes, I am," the elf nodded. "And you appear to be buffoons." He was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes.

Horace wasn't sure what he had expected a magical creature to be like. He certainly wasn't prepared for the quite calm and exceptionally _normal_ manner of the creature.

"We are members of the True Guard!" Bryn snapped. "Don't you speak to us like that!"

"Ah, the True Guard," the elf nodded. "It gets more and more troublesome every year."

"Oh shut up!" Jerome snarled. He stepped forward and ripped the woollen hat off the elf's head, exposing the pointed ears. Without even blinking, the elf seized Jerome's collar and sent him flying to the other side of the stable. Alda and Bryn attacked with their swords and the elf easily avoided the sharp points.

The horse whinnied impatiently. "I know, I know," the elf said, sounding for all the world completely unconcerned at the swords slicing the air in front of him. He pulled out a knife in a blur of a movement, deflected a stroke and knocked Bryn out cold. Jerome had recovered, and the elf had no trouble kicking him back down, before knocking Alda out too.

When all three second years were lying unconscious and bruised on the floor, Horace found himself staring into blood red eyes. He had his sword drawn, but he held it limply.

"Aren't you going to attack me?" the elf asked cheerfully.

Horace wasn't afraid. He knew after seeing his comrades dispatched so easily that he was no match for the elf, but that didn't make him afraid. This just wasn't what he had expected. This elf did not seem like a monster, or something unnatural. Rather, he appeared to be more human than anything else.

"You're normal," Horace blurted out.

The elf pursed his lips, considering the statement. "Well, I don't have tentacles, or a tail, or six noses, but I wouldn't describe myself as _normal_ as such."

"But...you..." Horace couldn't wrap his head around it. This magical creature was talking- joking even- just like a human. "You're supposed to unnatural," he managed.

"Now that's a bit harsh," the elf responded immediately. "I wouldn't say I'm that strange as to be unntural. You, however, are a bit odd. You seem different than most members of the True Guard. Perhaps you should consider a different career path." And with that, he strode from the stable.

Horace waited until Alda, Jerome and Bryn woke up. He pretended to have been knocked out as well, as he doubted they would take kindly to him letting the elf waltz on out. But he had begun to think that perhaps magical creatures were different to how he'd imagined, and it was a thought that lodged in his mind, nagging at him through the long hours of the night.

**Will and Alyss were a bit too much at the start, right? But I'm a sucker for romance haha. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Woooh, only one more week of exams. I can't handle it...studying just makes me depressed. I'm fine at school, it's just at home I only last five minutes without searching for an excuse. **

**New holiday project though- I'm going to make a cube cupboard out of painted cardboard boxes. **

**Yeah, I should get into facebook or twitter or something instead of saying those random things that nobody cares about in authors notes, lol. **

**Ahem, so the point was, I'll start updating again now...**

Of all the nights they could have had dinner, it had to be the full moon. Halt's solution was simple- "cancel it"- but Will knew it was not that easy. He didn't have a reason for cancelling, at least, not one he could share with her, and he couldn't contact her until the day. It would be rude to give her such short notice of his changed plans without a reason. Alyss wasn't someone he wanted to be rude to.

"It's the evening though," Will mused. "I won't transform until the moon comes up."

Halt wasn't going to give him any leeway. "No, but you have to be deep in the forest before it does. You're not going."

"Oh please Halt!" Will cried. It was a plea he had been using frequently over the past few days, every time he thought of Alyss. Which was a lot. "I can still make it to the forest in time! I'll leave early!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll work extra hard!"

"No Will."

"But-"

"You are a werewolf," Halt snapped. "I can't change that, you can't change that. Unless you want to put your friend in risk, you will not go."

So, nine days after the dinner had been arranged, Will headed up to the castle to cancel. He rapped on Alyss's door- she wasn't home- then tried Pauline's.

"Good morning, my lady," Will said politely. Pauline smiled down at him.

"A fine morning, ranger Will." She matched his formality, and if they had been friends, he might have suspected she was gently teasing his manners.

"Can I ask where Alyss is?"

Pauline's smile widened. "You can ask," she said. For a horrible moment, it reminded him of something Halt might say, then she took pity on him and continued. "She's getting ready for your dinner tonight."

"Eh?" Will forgot his mannerisms in his surprise. "At three in the afternoon?"

"A girl needs time to dress up every now and again," Pauline told him, still smiling. Again, Will thought he caught a hint of amusement and perhaps even a touch of sarcasm in that smooth voice- but he dismissed it as proposterous because everyone knew that Lady Pauline was most sombre and serious.

"Besides, she has to finish a few errands before she goes," Pauline added.

"Uh, see, about that..." Will hesitated. He hadn't counted on telling the elegant courier, but he supposed if she knew about their dinner date- they're friendly (not romantic) dinner date- she would find out he had backed out anyway. "I have to cancel."

"Why? If I may ask." Pauline's smile remained in place, and he suddenly realised it was a cultivated smile that would not disappear whatever her emotions. Did she care if he ruined her protegees evening?

"Halt won't let me go." It was the first lie he thought of. It sounded petulent, and weak, but Pauline's eyes glittered with an unrecognised emotion.

"Don't worry about ranger Halt," Pauline said gently. "I'll have words with him. He'll let you go."

Well, he couldn't insist on not going now. That would seem like he just didn't want to have dinner with Alyss. Which was very far from the truth.

"Thank you," Will said. Damn. Now what? "See you...around." He bowed slightly, in an awkward manner and took his leave.

So, nine days after dinner had been arranged, Will smoothed out his shirt (he chose the grey one this time) and suffered his mentor's penetrating gaze.

"Just go there, make up an excuse, and leave," Halt ordered.

"Alright, Halt," Will said softly. "I won't be long."

"Make sure you aren't." The grizzled ranger let out a tired sigh and combed a hand through his uneven hair. "I'll be waiting at the fringes of the forest for you."

"I know," Will said. He felt unbearably sad, for no good reason except that it seemed to him that his friendship with Alyss was suffering because of his werewolfism.

"And this time, try to keep me out of your excuses," Halt said. There was a note of humour in his voice. He was trying to cheer his apprentice up, to no avail. "I don't want Pau-_Lady_ Pauline to tell me off again."

Will attempted a wan smile. "Did she really tell you off?"

Halt glowered at his apprentice. "On second thought, it's none of your business. Now hurry, the sun is starting to set."

The sun was indeed starting to set. As Will rode to Red Apple Inn, blazes of orange streaked the sky, as vibrant as autumn leaves and melting into a glow over the horison. It wouldn't be long until navy blue seeped in and the stars appeared as a child drops sprinkles on a cupcake.

Then the full moon would rise.

And the werewolf would rise with it.

Even now, Will could feel the beast stirring in him. He never remembered much of his transformations, just flashes of colour and shadow and a longing for blood that rivalled that of his vampire teacher.

Alyss was already waiting outside Red Apple Inn. Her blonde hair was braided over her shoulder, and her pale blue dress was simple, yet enhanced her figure with breathtaking detail. At least, Will thought so.

"Will," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"Have you been waiting long?" Will asked. Stupid, because he should be saying, I'm sorry, I have to go.

"No, I just got here. Let's put Tug in the stables and pick a table. I'm starving!" She took his hand and tugged him towards the stables.

Will hesitated. "Listen, I..." She cocked her head, her grey eyes flickering with doubt.

"...you?" she prompted.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't turn her down. But he had to! He had to!

"I'm starving too," he finished weakly. Tug shot him a disapproving look- well what did he know? He's a horse!

_A unicorn, actually. _Tug spoke to him- this could be passed off as unicorn magic (which is what many of the corps claimed) but really it was all in Will's head.

Will frowned. "A unicorn without a horn is a horse," he hissed.

Tug snorted, offended. Will honestly didn't care if he had upset his mount. For now, he had bigger problems than a moody _horse. _

"I'm sorry?" Alyss asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," Will assured her. They left Tug in the stables, ignoring his accusing glare.

They chose a table inside where Will could sit with his back to a wall. He fidgeted, and played with his cutlery. Alyss regarded him patiently.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Yes, something was wrong. He was a werewolf. A damn werewolf.

"No," Will sighed. Just make up an excuse! It couldn't be this hard to think of one. But then a band started playing, and Alyss started clapping along, and Will found himself joining in. And then the food was served.

Will couldn't leave any of the excellent roast duck. He wolfed it down (an appropriate comparison, he thought). Eventually, he became aware that Alyss was watching him with a sombre expression.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," she said. Will tried to laugh it off.

"No, no, I'm having a good time." The had a bottle of white wine between them and he took a sip, pretending to enjoy it more than he did. Will wasn't a big fan of wine- he much preferred coffee- but he knew Alyss enjoyed the occasional glass. She had once confessed to him that she liked the dainty glasses more than the actual taste.

"You have something on your mind," Alyss argued. "Come on, Will, I know you too well for this. You can tell me."

"Uhm, uh." Will could feel heat rising in his cheeks. He stuffed a forkfull of of carrots in his mouth, and spluttered, "this is good food," while he was chewing. "Mmm, delicious. Keep eating, Alyss, it's really-"

"Will," Alyss said sternly. "Stop it. Tell me what's wrong."

"I-" He rested his elbow on the table, and his forhead on his hand. "I'm really sorry, Alyss," he said. The inn was warm and glowing; he really didn't want to leave it to venture out into the night. He had to, he knew he had to. "I'm so sorry. I have to go."

Will stood up, dumping his napkin onto the table. He actually felt the wolf stir to life in his body at the movement. The beast was waiting. Waiting for him to reach the forest.

"Will?" Alyss stood up as well, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go," Will said again. He pulled her in for a quick hug. Her hands automatically moved to his waist, and the fine strands of her hair tickled his cheek. It took all his mental strength to pull himself away. And then he turned, and ran to the door.

The sky had darkened now. A few bright stars had appeared. He didn't bother searching for the moon, it would only waste time.

"Will!" Alyss emerged from the door behind him. He didn't turn- couldn't bring himself to acknowledge her presence. He just ran towards the forest. It would be faster if he got Tug, but he didn't want the horse to be in danger.

The houses flashed past. The movement in his limbs felt good, oh so good, and as he ran, he became aware that his feet were making a pattering noise. Will growled, low in his throat. That was no good. His pads should be silent. He kicked off the boots and was briefly satisfied with the feeling of freedom, even as a sharp stone lodged in the soft flesh of his sole.

He could smell the forest, drawing him ever closer. Above him, a silver orb sent power rippling through his veins. There was the forest, a dark, sinister line of trees. He recognised a shaggy horse and its rider. What were their names again? Halt. Halt and Abelard. Yes, the ranger.

His clothes were beginning to feel tight, restricting. Will hissed and spat and growled. He tore at the material, slicing his chest with his nails. Long, brown hair grew to cover the wounds. His ranger uniform was shredded as his muscles bulged. Oh it hurt. A good pain. A pain of freedom.

No, no, it wasn't. There was this part of him, this tiny protesting part, that was being squashed and suffocated. That part was still awake and taking in the scenery. It saw the full moon up ahead and shrivelled, even as a howl was torn from Will's lips.

And then that tiny, suffering part fell asleep- and anything after that, Will would not be able to remember clearly in the morning.

…...

Halt saw his apprentice running towards the forest. His eyes narrowed in irritation- Will was late. That boy...honestly! Halt should have known he wouldn't be able to cancel on Alyss so easily. And all the while, the ranger had been mounted at the fringes of the forest, impatient and grumpy.

He'd noticed the moon had risen, and briefly felt a sense of urgency and horror. In fact, he'd been about to gallop to the inn when he spotted Will. He was relieved to see his apprentice was still in human form. But then the boy had torn his clothes from his body and howled as he turned into a wolf.

Halt cursed. They hadn't managed to make it into the woods. He urged Abelard forward, well aware that he may have to round the wolf into the forest. But the werewolf was already heading back to the town.

Abelard was galloping now. That was the end of the hope he'd be able to control the wolf. It might also be the end of his apprentice, if it came to it. Halt frowned grimly. Yes...if it came to it, he would shoot the boy.

He heard screams and redoubled his efforts. He followed the noise- the wolf had smashed in the side of a house. It (Halt could not think of it as 'he') charged into another house, ripping out the logs that formed the walls and hurling them onto the roof. The roof caved in.

Halt tried to get behind it and round it away, but it had no fear of the puny man who always showed up. A woman was trying to drag her husband from the rubble of their house. Helpless tears streamed down her face.

In a split second, Halt saw the light in the wolf's eyes. He knew the woman would be killed. Instinctively, trying to forget the wolf was also his apprentice, he fired an arrow into its arm.

The wolf howled in complete, utter rage. It turned and leapt at Halt. Abelard skipped out of the way, and Halt quickly dismounted. He didn't want his horse in danger- he yelled at Abelard to back up and get out of the way.

Halt sent another arrow splitting the air beside the wolf's head. It turned to him, eyes glowing with fury.

"Don't," he said, another arrow already nocked to the string and aimed at the beasts head. The werewolf was not capable of registering a threat. It leaped straight at Halt.

He had seconds to spare. He could kill it- but that would kill Will as well. And even though Halt had known from the start that a werewolf for an apprentice was troublesome, and he had been dubious that it was a good idea, and he'd told himself he wouldn't develop a friendship with the boy, he couldn't release the arrow. He couldn't.

After all, Will had accepted him as a vampire. And his endless questions and lively eyes had become a part of Halt's life that if the grizzled ranger was honest, he would miss.

So he couldn't kill the wolf. Halt dived out of the way and rolled back onto his feet. He couldn't just let the wolf destroy the town...but what could he do?

He fired a few more rapid warning shots. There was already one black shafted arrow sticking from the wolf's arm and Halt didn't want to add any more, if he could help it. One arrow was enough to cause Will agony when he woke up.

The wolf was furious now. It fixed it's gaze on the ranger, who to an onlooker, now appeared ridiculously small in his cloak and holding a longbow the same size as him. If Halt had been a younger man, he might have shivered to see the brown eyes that usually held so much joy distorted and bloodthirsty. He didn't; the ranger never let his insides quiver or his confidence be drained.

Halt's eyes glowed with an idea. But could he manage it? Yes, he decided. The cool darkness of the night lapped at his body, giving the vampire strength. He always felt stronger in the night. And ten times more deadly.

Time to save the villagers from the werewolf.

**Review? *puppy dog eyes* I need to feed off reviews to get brain power for exams next week. **

**Okay, so the chapter wasn't really finished, but I figured I'd just cut it in half 'cause I feel like it's been a while since I updated. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**I was a bit stuck on all my stories, but I've finally made some progress on this one!**

**Thanks for all your lovely reviews, favs, and alerts everyone! (30 favourites *faints*)(80 reviews *dies*)**

Halt moved instinctively, nocking another arrow; drawing; releasing. It grazed the arrow already lodged in the werewolf's arm, causing a shaft of pain for the beast. A bloodcurdling howl echoed through the air. All around Redmont, children would be crawling into their parent's beds, terrified by the sound and imagining horrors even worse than the reality.

At least, someone other than Halt might think such imaginings were worse than reality, but the bearded ranger knew there was nothing worse than a lively, young boy transformed into a monster. Halt yelled a string of words, just in case the bolt of pain was not enough to get the werewolf's attention. The words themselves did not matter, only the challenging tone.

A woman was trying to help her husband free of the rubble. Her panicked sobs hung in the air. She would not last a second against a creature of the night. Halt determined she wouldn't need to- he would deal with the werewolf.

Said wolf was intent on the grey green figure. Halt could almost see the hate churning in its eyes. The ranger had done nothing but cause it pain. And the wolf remembered all those nights in the forest, where there was nothing to hunt other than deer or rabbits, and no matter how far or fast it ran, the cloaked man would always be chasing after him.

The fury was building up in the werewolf. Its muscles trembled with anticipation, it bared its fangs in warning. Halt knew he only had to push it a little further. He shot and fired again, this time just missing the wolf's head. He knew he was taking a risk. If the wolf moved too soon, or too abrubtly, that arrow could have slammed right to its skull. That would not be healthy for Will.

This threat was the last straw for the wolf. It howled and charged at the defiant ranger. Halt turned on his heel and sprinted a few paces, thanking the full moon for giving him more strength and speed. However, even with his vampire blood boiling in his veins, he could not run faster than a long legged werewolf. He swerved to one side, ducking behind a building.

He werewolf smashed into the wall of the building, splintering the wood and causing the corner of the house to cave in. Halt felt the impact on the other side, and shuddered to think what it would feel like if the wolf caught him. But there was no time to spend huddled in fear. He darted into the open, fired another warning arrow, and instantly began to sprint. This time, he had a headstart as the wolf growled and hesitated before chasing him down. Halt covered a respectable distance before the werewolf got so close he had to dive out the way and roll back onto his feet.

Wensley village wasn't big and it wouldn't take long to be clear of it. Abelard had followed behind the wolf, but was so far not attracting its attention. Halt's mind was in turmoil- should he risk his horse? Or should he order Abelard away. He'd already shot eight arrows. He had a further sixteen in his quiver. More in his saddle pack, but there wouldn't be time to retrieve those.

He didn't have the time to mull over his course of action. His plan relied on speed or else the werewolf would lose interest in him. Halt let his instincts make up his mind for him. He had to get the wolf to the forest, and he'd cover more distance on Abelard. He'd have to put his horse in danger to save the villagers. The problem with this was that Abelard was behind the wolf, while Halt was in front.

He fired another arrow. This one whizzed past the werewolf's left side. Instinctively, the wolf turned to the right to avoid it. Halt took the opportunity to dash past on the wolf's left. A ladder was propped against a building, and he shot up the rungs two at a time, one hand clutching his bow. He leapt onto the roof tiles just as the wolf slammed into the wall. The building shuddered with the impact and Halt waved his arms to keep his balance.

He made a series of hand gestures to Abelard. The horse's ears flicked in acknowledgement. He trotted, as silent as only a ranger horse was, past the wolf. The werewolf was busy digging its claws into the wall to clamber up after Halt. The ranger had hoped this would happen- it gave Abelard a wide area to move past the wolf.

Halt felt the framework of the building under him shudder. Clawed paws gripped the edge of the roof, and frothing jaws gnashed at him. Halt ran nimbly along the rooftop and leaped onto the next one. He whistled for Abelard to keep up with him. The wolf dropped to the ground and chased after Halt with its nose in the air.

He made another hand gesture to Abelard. The horse flicked his ears in understanding, and dropped back behind the wolf. Halt knew the layout of Wensley village well. He knew until he reached the farmyards, he would be able to run across the tops of the buildings. Halt also knew that on the other side of this particular line of buildings was the market square, where wooden stalls had been set up for the morning market tommorrow.

These stalls had tarpaulin rigged over each one to keep the sun off the merchants. In response to his signal, Abelard veered down an alley to the left and emerged in the market square. Halt leapt from the top of his building and landed directly on one of the tarpaulins. The cloth stretched down at the impact and his feet touched the ground. His torso slammed into the edge of the wooden counter and a throb shot up his body. For a moment, Halt was dizzy and blinded by reflex tears. Then he ripped the cloth down, ignoring the shot of pain up his side and vaulted over the counter. Abelard eased his stride as the ranger hurled himself into the saddle.

The werewolf saw the ranger disappear over the edge of the building. It had been running and had built up its full speed. It now had the momentum to scrambled up the wall in a quick movement and vault over the roof. It skidded as it landed, seconds behind the ranger horse.

Halt tugged on the reins, making Abelard veer to the left. The werewolf shot past them, and circled around, intent on its quarry. The ranger horse broke into a gallop. Halt spun in the saddle, expertly dropping the reins. He gripped the horse tightly with his knees. His side burned as he nocked an arrow and sent it zipping on its way, to peirce the ground at the werewolf's feet. The wolf howled, but it jerked back at the arrow. This gave Halt and Abelard a chance to gain a few more metres. Then the wolf was on them again.

Halt reverted to his first strategy. He urged the horse onwards for as long as he could, then he forced Abelard to veer around a building for safety when the wolf was nearly upon them. He only had to do this once on Abelard. If he worried the wolf would give up, he sent more arrows to infuriate it.

The farmlands was where it got hard. There was no shelter here, just open land. Halt was glad he'd decided on riding Abelard, he doubted he could have avoided the werewolf for so long on foot. And the ranger horse was almost as fast as the wolf. When the glittering claws got too close for comfort, Halt fired an arrow to make the wolf hesitate and simultaneously urged Abelard to even greater speeds. The only problem with this was that Halt's side was aflame with pain, and it became worse when he moved his arm to shoot. He suspected he'd cracked a rib against the counter. The tarpaulin hadn't absorbed enough of the force when he dropped from the building.

Even so, it wasn't long before the forest was looming before them. By now the werewolf was beginning to flag. It didn't have Abelard's stamina to be able to keep up with such high speeds for long. Halt wheeled the horse around it and fired yet another arrow, rounding it into the forest. This was his usual monthly strategy, to edge and corner it. It worked mostly because the wolf was often more interested in a deer or a rabbit, or just frolicking than in the ranger. It also worked because he hardly had to use it- the wolf was free to roam anywhere in the forest as long as he remained far from civilisation.

The wolf howled at the moon, then charged into the forest. Halt breathed a sigh of relief. He followed at a distance, and he knew the wolf was aware of him, but they reverted to their usual relationship of 'I won't shoot at you, if you stay in the forest'.

He had eleven arrows left. That would be enough if the wolf tried anything.

…...

When the sun finally touched the horizen, Halt let his shoulders relax. It felt to him like years since he'd seen the sun, and he blinked at the lightening sky. This was unusual for him. Generally, he preferred the dark, because he was stronger physically, because it was easy to remain hidden, and because the daylight prickled his vampire skin. It didn't hurt him, by any means, it just felt like someone was constantly brushing a feather up his arms.

But today, he was delighted to see the dawn. He urged Abelard forward to where the werewolf had been roaming. His apprentice was lying on the ground, fully human. Halt tried to fight off a twinge of guilt at the arrow sticking out of Will's arm and the blood on the pine needles.

He dismounted and let Abelard graze. The horse had done well, and Halt would find a bucketfull of apples for him later. For now, he focused on his apprentice. He broke off the arrow shaft, then pushed the barbed head through Will's arm. It was better to do it now, he figured, when Will was unconscious.

He bound the wound and wrapped his apprentice in his ranger cloak. Will's clothes had been shredded when he transformed, and Halt made a mental note to buy him some more. He lifted the boy onto the saddle and urged his horse to take them home.

Once back at the cabin, he put Will straight to bed. Then he found the promised apples for Abelard.

"Good boy," he said, stroking his horse's mane. "Go comfort Tug. I'm sure he's worried about Will."

He fed and watered both horses, then checked on Will again. Only then did he bother to feel his ribs to see the extent of his own injuries. He was alright, other than a few bruises and scratches, and that painful cracked rib.

"Halt?" Will asked sleepily.

"I'm here," Halt said, moving over to sit on the edge of his apprentice's bed.

"My arm hurts," Will whined, sounding very much like a small child. Halt reminded himself that the boy was still half asleep.

"It'll get better," he said. "Go to sleep."

Will did as he asked. Or maybe he'd dropped off before Halt had even finished the sentence. Either way, he let out a small snore. Halt left him alone to get some sleep himself.

The ranger forced himself to get up when the sun had completely risen. He had a duty to the fief, after all. He was in and out of the cabin all day, in meetings with the baron and helping to co-ordinate the frightened villagers of Wensley. He was glad the woman had managed to get her husband out from under the rubble- he'd been too preoccupied with keeping the werewolf in line to come back and help her.

When evening fell, Will emerged from his room. At this time, Halt was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, reading through reports. He made his pupil a cup and Will accepted it gratefully.

"I hate being a werewolf," Will muttered. Halt shot him a glance. The boy had his eyes fixed on his steaming coffee. He looked defeated, with all the cuts and bruises he always had after a full moon. "I'm sorry, Halt. I should have cancelled on Alyss straight away."

"Yes, you should have," Halt said sternly. "But it won't happen again, and you've learnt your lesson."

Will closed his eyes, distraught. "I remember people. I didn't...did I...hurt...?"

"Everyone is fine," Halt assured him. "I forced the wolf back to the forest." He decided not to mention his rib, or the woman and her husband in the rubble, or the moments of terror when he was not sure Abelard could outrun the werewolf.

Will touched his arm lightly. "Halt, did you shoot me?" There was no accusation in his voice, merely curiosity.

"I had no choice," Halt answered.

"I know," Will said. "If you hadn't been there, I would have killed someone, wouldn't I? Lord, what if I'd waited just a little longer before saying goodbye to Alyss, I could have hurt her!"

"There's no point in what ifs," Halt told his apprentice. "So one full moon didn't go perfectly. We got lucky, no one was hurt, and it won't happen again."

"But what if it _does_ happen again?" Will insisted. There were tears welling in his eyes.

"I won't let it," Halt answered firmly. He stood up to get another cup of coffee and made the mistake of moving too quickly. He winced and held his rib. A second later, he recovered himself and strode to the coffee pot but he knew Will had seen the moment.

"You're hurt," Will said, sounding genuinely upset. Halt wasn't used to people worrying about him, and he found it made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

"You're hurt and it's my fault," Will said miserably.

Halt frowned at this. "It is not your fault." He clicked his tongue in irritation and strode to his apprentice. He yanked lightly at Will's hair, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated. "You weren't in control of yourself."

"But I could have turned Alyss down faster," Will pointed out. There was nothing to say to this. "Thanks for everything, Halt. I think I'll go back to bed now."

…...

Will wasn't feeling like his usual, cheerful self. Halt gave him a few days off to recover from his injuries, and he ambled around. It was around one in the afternoon and Will had found a peaceful glade. He was sitting under a tree, fiddling with a particularly long strand of grass.

Halt was adament that 'dark' and 'light' were irrelevent terms. He had once told Will that he had his own definitions of the two. He thought that 'dark' creatures were those that harmed others with the intention to hurt, and he used Lord Morgarath as his example. Halt also claimed that 'light' creatures were those that helped others and were kind. In this manner, he and Will were both light creatures.

But he said even this was not always accurate. He pointed out that every ranger had harmed others with the intention to hurt- in protection of another party. Still, dark creatures could protect their own too. In conclusion, he felt that people were people, and magical creatures were magical creatures, and animals were animals. There was no 'light' and 'dark' seperating sides.

Will pulled the strand of grass from the ground and wrapped it around his finger. Halt had said all that before he saw the werewolf in Wensley. What if he changed his mind? What if he decided Will was a dark creature after all?

What if Will _was _a dark creature? Maybe that's why it had been so hard to turn down Alyss. Maybe deep inside, he _wanted _to wreak havoc on the village. He'd been subconsciously looking for an excuse to hurt others. He was evil.

"Feeling better?"

Will started. His mentor stooped and sat beside him.

"Halt! I didn't hear you coming!"

"Not many people do," Halt said, a glitter in his eye that was the equivolent of a smile. They sat beside each other in a comfortable, friendly silence.

"How's the arm?" Halt asked quietly, breaking the silence.

"It doesn't hurt too much," Will answered. "Halt, I'm a dark creature, aren't I?" Once he began, he found he couldn't stop. "That's why it was so hard to say goodbye to Alyss. Deep inside, I wanted to hurt those people. It wasn't just the wolf who wanted to attack you, it was me too and -"

"Do you wish someone had been badly injured?" Halt interrupted.

Will looked down at his hands. "No."

"Did you want the wolf to have attacked me?"

"No."

"Then stop being ridiculous."

"But Halt!" Will protested. "I had no control over the wolf! Surely if I really was good, I would have been able to do _something._ Then you wouldn't have been hurt."

"It's just a cracked rib," Halt shrugged. "It's not a big deal. And it doesn't matter how good you are; in fact, you could be the best person in the world and still lose control. You don't even have to be a werewolf. Normal people lose control over themselves too. It's called being impulsive."

Will nodded thoughtfully. He absorbed each word his mentor said, as he had absorbed the teachings and lessons his mentor had given him over the past months.

"Have you ever lost control?"

"Sure, I can be impulsive," Halt said lightly.

Will bit his lip. He thought he should back off and not pursue his line of thinking any further. He carried on anyway. "I mean, _really_ lost control. Had no ability to stop yourself, or forgot who you were."

Halt was quiet for so long Will thought he wouldn't answer. He was actually starting to worry he'd be sleeping up a tree when Halt said, "Many times."

His mentor then added a stern, "and none of them concern you." Will took the hint and didn't question any of them.

"So, you're sure I'm not evil?" Will asked instead.

Halt rolled his eyes. He squeezed his apprentice's shoulder, a comforting gesture. "Will, if you were evil, I would have to expel you from the Ranger Corps, which would be a damn shame because you've done a fine job so far."

Will blinked. Then he blinked again. Then a wide grin split his face in half.

Halt saw the expression. "That is," he corrected himself, "a fine job for a fairly mediocre apprentice."

It was too late, the damage was done. Will's grin didn't even fade. He was learning to see through his mentor's grim ways.

"That's the first time you've praised me properly," the boy said, utterly delighted.

"Don't get used to it," Halt sighed.

**Halt's so much cleverer than me. But alas, he's stuck with me writing him and that was the only plan I could come up with. I'm sure Halt would have found a much more epic way to defeat the werewolf, but I'm not a ranger and I couldn't think of any other way to avoid Will being hurt. Well, I suppose I could have killed off Will, but I'm just not like the Dark Overlord of fanfiction *cough* Bralt *cough* ;)**

**Sorry if it was a bit confusing though. I know I got confused, trying to work out left and right, and where Abelard was in relation to the wolf. **

**I'm going to work on a Christmas fic now. I'm already getting in the spirit of Christmas. It's going to have Crowley in it *grins* but I won't upload it until it's closer to the 25th. Or maybe on the 25th!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_A plump, motherly figure was handing out lollies. They were wrapped in crinkled silver paper, and when unwrapped, it was revealed that each was a different colour. A tall boy was comparing his purple sweet to a smiling blonde's red one. Another boy was proud of helping to hand out the lollies, while a graceful girl hummed to herself as she popped a pink one into her mouth. _

_A fifth child stood apart from others. This boy was small for his age, with the plain clothes of an orphin hanging from his slender frame. His hands were devoid of sweets. The boy crept towards the caregiver; held his hands cupped in front of him, silently asking for a lolly. But the woman ignored him, instead giving another lolly to the bigger boy. _

_The fifth child's eyes welled with tears. No one noticed; no one cared. When he pleaded with the caregiver to please give him a lolly, she reluctantly passed him one. Her hands shook, her eyes wide when his fingers brushed against hers. _

"_Thank you," the child said. He retreated to his corner to eat. The other people clouded up into black figures with no faces. Then he realised they were gone, they had all left without him. He heard their thoughts buzzing through the air. _

_'He's a werewolf. Be afraid. Be disgusted. He's a werewolf."_

Will fumbled for the lantern beside his bed. His injured arm burned. Sweat dribbled down his collar. He managed to light the lantern, and the pool of light chased away the last remnants of his dream. It had been a long time since he'd had that dream- it wasn't always about lollies, sometimes they were new clothes, or they were heading on a trip; he always watched himself be left behind.

He could laugh at himself when he woke. It seemed self-absorbed, pitiful even, to have dreams like that. In reality, Alyss and the others treated him no different to anyone else (unless he counted the years of Horace's taunts), as none of them knew he was a werewolf. On the other hand, Maria, the caretaker, really did tremble when she looked at him. She really did seem to be revolted by what he was.

Will bit his lip. Well, maybe if she'd taken better care of him in the first place, he never would have become a werewolf! He knew this wasn't fair, and dismissed the accusation as it came to him. Maria had made him hot drinks in the middle of the night when he had bad dreams; she had bandaged his scratches and made him comb his hair. She had done her best for him, despite her obvious dislike of him.

He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now. The small dose of warmweed and elfgreen leaves Halt had given him had worn off, and the pain spreading from his arm was intense. Will clutched his blanket around himself and shuffled to the kitchen, searching for the jar of elfgreen Halt kept.

He remembered rummaging around the castle kitchens when he lived at the ward. Will wasn't sure why the memory chose to resurface now. Perhaps it was because he'd dreamed of the ward and it was on his mind.

He had found that it wasn't hard to sneak into the kitchens to steal pies and other tasty pastries. In fact, he'd made quite a habit of it when he was younger. There was a conveniant drainpipe, just the right size for a smaller than average boy. One time, he was careless; cocky from past successes. Master Chubb entered the kitchen sooner than Will had expected, in time to see an orphin with a face of crumbs and a slice missing from the pie cooling on the windowsill.

When Chubb interrogated him, Will began to open his mouth to deny that he would do something so terrible as to help himself to a pie. But he hesitated, and, without really understanding why, felt compelled to admit the truth. How he regretted that later, when his head was still sore from the thwack of the ladle!

Master Chubb had told Maria about this appalling behaviour. She had taken Will aside and told him quite sternly that he must never steal, that good people didn't steal. Will thought the emphasis had been on 'people' (as opposed to werewolves) rather than 'good'.

Now, he found the elfgreen leaves and picked one out to chew on. He always ate them after a transformation. They helped to heal his wounds, as well as numb the pain.

It took some time for the leaf to take effect. Will screwed up his face at the bitter taste. He sat down on Halt's favourite chair, since his mentor wasn't up and it was a rare opportunity to relax on the most comfortable chair in the cabin.

In half an hour, he had drifted back to sleep. This time there were no lollies, and he dreamt only that there was something he had to do, something important that couldn't wait, but he couldn't think what it was. He remembered when he woke and said, 'ah' as he saw Halt frowning down at him, arms crossed, toe tapping. The importan thing he had forgotten was of course that he had to switch chairs before the ranger woke.

"Sorry," Will said, hopping up and shifting to the couch. "I fell asleep."

"In my chair?" Halt questioned. "Why were you in my chair?"

"It's a comfortable chair, Halt," Will explained with a grin.

"I know," Halt said. "That's why it's my chair. And apprentices aren't allowed on it." That is, apprentices along with knights, blacksmiths, battlemasters, barons and in particular, ranger corps commandants.

"Sorry," Will said again, though he was still grinning. Halt shook his head in disgust, but didn't pursue the matter.

"How's the arm?" he asked instead.

"Alright, I guess," Will shrugged. "I just want to know if I can shoot with it." He stretched his muscles, wincing at a bolt of pain from his forearm; it would be unbearable if he wasn't drugged up on elfgreen. If he couldn't shoot, then he didn't want to imagine his mentor's disappointment in him.

As it was, Halt had other plans. "You'll be doing no shooting today," he said. "That arm needs to heal- hold it still, I don't want you tearing the wound open. Besides, those elfgreen leaves make you sluggish and slow your reaction time. You can continue practise in another two or three days."

"Oh," Will said, crestfallen.

Halt raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, I still have plenty of mapping and strategy exercises for you." At this, Will appeared even more downcast.

"In the meantime," Halt continued. "Maria from the ward has gotten in touch with me." Will looked up in surprise. "She's hosting a reunion for your year."

"A reunion?" Will repeated.

Halt rolled his eyes. "Please try to refrain from parroting me. It isn't doing your intelligence (or lack of) any favours."

"And she wants me there? Are you sure?" Will queried. He couldn't fathom why the caretaker would invite him now she had finally gotten rid of the werewolf. She didn't have to concern herself with him anymore.

"No Will, I'm not sure. It's hard to tell when she specifically came to tell me about it."

"But why?" Will wondered aloud, ignoring his mentor's usual sarcasm.

"Ask her, not me," Halt advised. "It's today, so-"

"Today?" Will interrupted. "When today? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

The bad tempered ranger sighed. "Yes, soon, and I didn't feel like it earlier. You can make me breakfast, sweep the floors, then you can be on your way to the ward."

Frying bacon was awkward with his left arm. The pan didn't feel right in his hand. He seemed to do well enough, for the cabin was filled with the smell of sizzling juices, and Halt didn't interfere. Will managed to crack the eggs with minimum movement of his injured arm. He dished out there breakfast, accompanied by the never forgotten cup of coffee.

It all took much longer than usual, partly because he had to pause when a shaft of pain radiated from his shoulder, and partly because the elfgreen leaves made him groggy and slow. They helped a lot though; his smaller cuts and bruises had dimished to scars and faint purplish marks that were barely perceptable.

When Halt had scrutionised the floor, satisfied that it sparkled, he sent the boy on his way. Will mounted Tug and cantered towards the ward, slowing as he neared the busier streets. He heard people talking about the devastation in Wensley. His ears reddened; hidden underneath his cowl.

'Sorry' he said silently to each, 'sorry'.

Two children were playing outside the ward. They were swordfighting with sticks, and when one landed a blow, they apologised. Will had practised a similar game with Horace, although in their case it followed being called a coward and they had satisfaction if they managed to bruise their opponant. It had not been a friendly sport between them.

Horace may well have changed since entering battleschool. Will hoped this was the case. He knocked at the door, no longer feeling that he could walk in whenever he chose. The boys' dorm was not his anymore, the ward not his home; Halt's cabin at the fringes of the wood was his home now.

Maria opened the door. Her smile was warm as she ushured Will in.

"Come in, come in," she said. "Sit down, have a drink." She pulled back a chair to the kitchen table. Will sat, fidgeting a little as he watched her bustle around the kitchen. A girl of around eleven years entered to grab a sandwich, disappeared again. Maria placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

"Can I have honey in it?" Will asked.

"Honey?" Maria was perplexed. "In coffee?"

Will could see what Halt meant about obvious questions. They were more like statements, and they were rather annoying.

"Yes. Halt always puts honey in his coffee. I guess I've picked up the habit."

Maria produced a honey pot from the pantry, though she still couldn't understand why anyone would ruin decent coffee in such a way. She poured herself a cup just as Jenny, George and Alyss entered.

"Hello, sweethearts," Maria cried, hurrying over to greet them. She took their jackets and hung them on the stand by the door. Will turned away at the hugs and kisses shared between them, concentrating on the dollop of honey.

They joined him around the table, Jenny beside him. While he was greeted with enthusiasm by Jenny and George, which he matched, he was aware that Alyss was regarding him coolly. He hadn't spoken to her since he had run off during dinner.

"It's lovely to see you all," Maria said. "I do hope your craftmasters are treating you well."

"Yes, well," George coughed, "I have had my fair share of papercuts. I suppose success comes at the cost of hard work. As they say, blood, sweat and tears. With all this fuss about Morgarath, scribemaster Nigel has been working us until late at night."

"Morgarath?" Will recognised the name. A name that had cause a lot more than papercuts. "The dark lord?

"That's the one," George nodded.

"Morgarath and the like have nothing to do with us," Maria said firmly. Will had to agree it was difficult to imagine what might be going on while he was in a homely kitchen, with a warm brew of coffee in his hands.

"Is Horace not coming?" Jenny asked, changing the subject.

Maria shook her head in sorrow. "I asked battlemaster Rodney if he might give him a day off, but, well, I'm not sure how to tell you this."

"What is it?" All four of them asked at once, though they used slightly different phrasing.

"Horace has been expelled from battleshool. A good while ago too." Maria brushed a stray tear from her eye. She took great pride in her orphans, and was fond of them all. "I haven't been able to get in touch with him."

They were all shocked. Horace was big for his age, and he'd always been decent with his practise sword in the ward- not that Will knew much about what was decent. He recalled the strange night when Horace had come to his door, and the sword Halt claimed belonged to the True Guard.

"He must be around Redmont somewhere," Alyss said. "Don't fret, Maria." She reached for the caretakers hand, and squeezed it gently.

"No, you're right, my dear, I mustn't worry too much," Maria said. "Now, who wants to take a picnic to the rose gardens?"

They all agreed, which was fortunate because Maria had already packed a picnic basket. If they had declined, Will suspected they would have been dragged along by their ears.

As they walked, Jenny was discussing simple cooking tricks she had learned from Master Chubb with Maria, who sometimes cooked for the ward (other times the castle would supply meals). George, Alyss and Will walked three abreast, ahead of the other two.

Will caught Alyss's hand. She turned, questioning.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Will murmured in her ear. "It's about the other night."

Alyss hesitated, then nodded slowly. Will let out a shaky breath. He had no excuse for his behaviour, at least, not one he could make up. He had to tell her the truth, he decided. That he was a werewolf. It was something she deserved to know.

"Give us a moment please," she said to George. The scribe smiled, appraising them.

"Take all the time you need." To Jenny, he said, "why did you choose that particular spice?" which set her off on a ramble, and he listened patiently with Maria while Will and Alyss quickened their pace so that the others would not overhear.

"Go on then," Alyss said, somehow sounding just as stern as Halt, if not more so. "What do you have to say about disappearing on me?"

Now that the moment had come, Will's voice was lodged in his throat. He made a gargling sound, his cheeks glowing, and he coughed. "I...um..that is...oh where to begin?"

"Will," Alyss sighed. "If you didn't want to join me for dinner, all you had to do was say."

"What? No! No! It's not like that!"

"I promise I won't ever take offence."

"Alyss, no!" Will waved his hands hopelessly. "I wanted to, I honestly, truly, did. It's just, well, it's complicated." He winced at his lame finish.

He could see her growing frustration. He opened his mouth; he was going to tell her he was a werewolf! But he choked on the words. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to lose her.

Will closed his mouth, aware that he must look a fool. "I'm sorry," he said finally. That word had become a familiar one. "Please trust me. I had a reason. It's just not one I can tell you right now."

A humourless smile twitched her lips. "Of course," she said. "Now that you're a ranger, you have all sorts of secrets, right?"

Will touched her hand; she pulled away. "Thursday evening," he said. "Will you come to dinner with me then? I promise I'll be better company this time."

There was a flicker of something in her eyes. He almost thought she would accept. Then her head shook, a tiny, vague movement.

"I'm busy thursday," she said.

"Friday then?"

"I'm busy friday too, Will."

Before he could make a fool of himself and go through all the days of the week, they arrived at the rose gardens. It was a manicured place, with flat pentagon stones to walk over. Raised blocks of the stone held rectangular gardens, where various types of roses grew. Will could not distinguish them, other than 'red roses,' 'pink roses', 'yellow roses'.

Maria had a keen interest in flowers, and told them the meanings of the roses as she laid a table cloth on the stones, taking out sandwichs cut in triangles and miniture pies- she'd gotten the recipe from Jenny. Of course, the apprentice chef had supplied them with tarts and cakes; she would not stand for a lunch in which she didn't make any of the food. That was the best part, she thought: watching others drool over her cooking.

It had become difficult to keep George quiet for long, and he was the one to keep the conversation going, even if it got dreary in parts. Will stayed quiet, unless spoken to; moping over Alyss's rejection. The courier too was distracted by her own thoughts.

When they had devoured the food, Maria asked Will to help her pack away the cutlery and plates. George, Jenny and Alyss went for a walk among the roses, the girls pointing out which ones they thought prettiest.

"You seem glum," Maria said to Will as they folded up the tablecloth. "Is Halt not treating you fairly?"

"Halt's fine," Will said, defending his mentor. "I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"Alyss?" Maria asked with a smile that was suspiciously sly. Will shot a sharp glance at her, wondering when the caretaker had become so perceptive- or had she always been that way and he had never noticed?

Unsure how to respond, he gave a sheepish smile and a shrug.

"And," Maria lowered her voice. Her hands trembled, so Will knew she was about to ask something werewolf related. "How are the transformations?"

He wondered if she had heard about Wensley.

"Same as always," Will muttered. Halt's hatred of questions made sense, he thought now; these were difficult to answer.

A shadow crossed her face. "I'm sorry," she said. He confusion must have shown on his face, for she elaborated. "That it's not getting better, easier, for you."

"Thank you," Will said. "It can't have been easy, putting up with a werewolf for all these years." He laughed as he said it, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but it came out sounding strained.

"No, it certainly wasn't!" Maria declared. Then she tugged him into a warm, motherly embrace. His chin was pressed against her shoulder and his eyes widened; she had never dared to get so close to him before! "You've cause my hair to go gray, all those years of worrying about you and what others would do to you if they found out. And having to feel so helpless that I can't do anything about it."

Will blinked. She pulled back, smiling.

"Look at me, I'm getting all sentimental," Maria laughed. She was still trembling, and it crossed Will's mind that maybe she didn't fear him, or dislike him, as much as he had thought. Maybe she just didn't know how to act around him, because he wasn't human, which wasn't the same, he supposed, as not caring for him.

The dreams of being left out at the ward frequented less and less after that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The horses' hooves clopped over the country path, sending dust clouds rising into the air. They were following a trail that wound between a dark, thick wood and the brighter fields of corn. Bryn was in the lead because he had the map. Then came Alda, who was giving the orders and Jerome was next, his spear tied onto his saddle and clinking with every step. Horace brought up the rear.

He'd almost forgotten what castle Redmont looked like under the evening sun. His quarrels with Will in the ward seemed trivial and distant; the ward itself was fading away. There had been a big tree just outside the door that Will always used to climb. He couldn't recall what type of tree it was. Even the clunks and thuds of battleschool seemed to no longer be part of this world. This world that was now dust, forests, cleared farmlands and long winding trails that led to the next town. Then he would check the map and see the sketch of Redmont, and remember where he had been born and raised.

There were two things that were lodged in his mind. One was losing the sword to the ranger, and noting that Will was one of those mysterious- possibly _magical-_cloaked figures. The other was not from Redmont at all. It was the fire elf from Merric with the red eyes and pointed ears.

Alda, Bryn and Jerome were not pleasant company, so in the long hours Horace spent more time with his thoughts than he ever had in his life. And recurring in those thoughts, the words the elf had spoken, "You seem different to most members of the True Guard. Perhaps you should consider a different career path."

It had been the first magical creature they had encountered, and they'd failed to exterminate it. Worse, Horace hadn't wanted to kill it. Because it hadn't been an 'it' at all, it had been a 'he' and it talked and acted no different to a human, albeit cockier. Horace had let him go free.

That blasted fire elf had started the doubt in his mind. What if they were wrong about magical creatures? He felt ashamed looking back on events. They hadn't even looked like scratching the elf, no doubt the elf could have killed them all. He hadn't, he'd run off into the night with a smirk.

Horace didn't share his musing with the others. Alda had been born into the True Guard. His father was a high ranking official. Bryn was adamant that magical creatures were unnatural and should not exist. He was the one that told Horace all about the ways to recognise various creatures (he read about it in books) and he was also the one that could uphold a decent conversation. He'd explained that he'd met the other two in his first year of battleschool and struck up a partnership. They were determined, Bryn said, but they had no patience to study and learn. That was why they needed the third boy; while Alda had been taught some things about magic from his father, there was always more to find out.

As for Jerome, he didn't talk much to Horace. His thoughts and feelings on the topic of magic were unknown to Bryn. There was one thing clear about Jerome and that was when they'd aimed to kill the fire elf, his eyes had lit up with bloodthirsty delight.

Horace watched the spear clatter along on the back of the horse. Swings left, swing right, swings left, swings right. He realised with a start that he'd been counting the movement for the past minute instead of scanning the land. Horace jerked his head up and glanced around at the fields, then at the dark line of forest.

Alda let out an impatient huff. "I thought you said this forest is full of magical creatures," he complained. Bryn turned around with a snort.

"It should be," he said. "Thorntree forest is one of the biggest, darkest most mysterious places in Araluen."

"Well, I don't see anything,"Alda grumbled.

"We're not actually in the forest," Bryn pointed out. "The creatures are prob'ly deeper in."

Horace didn't want to enter the forest. Even the trees on the edges had a mencaing whisper about them. You're not welcome here, leave now, don't disrupt our ways. Horace shivered and clenched the hilt of his sword.

"I'm not going in there," Alda snapped. "We'd get lost. We'd never get out alive."

Horace had to agree. The trees were far too close together, they would never be able to push their way through the thicket. They'd be eaten by viscious monsters before they found their way out. Who knew what lurked in there?

"Maybe all your yapping is scaring them off!" Jerome pointed out.

Bryn flushed and Alda narrowed his eyes. Both of them looked like they were about to blow up, so Horace intervened and said, "maybe we should stop for lunch."

They turned to him. For a moment he thought they would all start yelling and he regretted speaking up. Then Bryn sighed and nodded.

"I agree. I'm starved." He swung down from the saddle and led his horse over to the side of the road. Horace hesitated. Bryn had picked the side by the forest and he wasn't sure it was a good idea.

"Fine, lunch it is," Alda muttered. A vein pulsed in his forehead as he dismounted. He considered himself the leader and would have preferred it if Bryn had waited for his approval before dismounting. Jerome was was a much better disciple and his feet hit the ground once Alda was standing before Thorntree.

"We'll eat by the cornfield," Alda said. He must feel the same as Horace about Thorntree. "Come on guys."

"What, are you scared?" Bryn scoffed. "It's sweltering out there. I'm eating in the shade." He flopped on the grass and leaned his back against a tree trunk.

Alda and Jerome reacted as if they'd been stung. "I'm not scared!" Alda protested. Then, "fine, we'll eat here. Get the food Horace."

Horace rummaged in his saddle pack. They had tough biscuits, fruit and jerkey that made battleschool lunches seem a delicacy. When they had bought fresh supplies in Merric, the others had insisted on purchasing plums, steaks, potatoes and eggs. For the first three days they ate like kings, even if everything had taken on a distinct egg yolk flavour because the shells had fractured in the saddlebags. It was lucky Horace had the good sense to buy hard rations as well or they'd have starved.

"Argh!"

Horace spun around at the yell. Alda was crouched at the base of a beech tree, staring up with wide eyes as the trunk ebbed and moved. Or rather, thousands of tiny critters moved on the trunk, giving it the appearance of being alive.

"Get them!" Bryn yelled and lunged for the trunk. The creatures blew into the air like dandilion seeds in the wind. Bryn and Jerome waved their arms around, trying to catch them. Horace, without knowing what they were, leapt in to help.

Although he was a year younger, he was still the biggest of the three boys. He had the broadest shoulders, the most muscular chest and more importantly in this situation, the widest hands. Horace cupped one of the creatures in his hands, fascinated when he felt it flutter between his palms.

Alda had recovered and joined in. He was unsuccessful, as were the other two second years. They watched thosands of greenish brown blobs rise far above head height and angle off back into the forest. It was beautiful, Horace thought.

"Did you get any?" Bryn asked through raggid pants.

"Horace did, I saw him," Jerome supplied. They all crowded around Horace's cupped hands. Feeling a little cramped, he stepped away.

"What are they?" he asked, realising it hadn't been wise to start grabbing at them before he knew what they were or if they were poisonous.

"Open your hands and see," Bryn said. He nodded to Jerome, demonstrating an authority that made Alda sneer, and Jerome fetched a pouch from the saddle packs and held it ready.

Horace unfurled his hands. Seen close to, he realised it was not a random blob. It was a tiny person; a miniture replica of a woman coloured in browns and greens to match the trunk. She had wings like that of a bee, though they wavered as if they had no more strength than a spiders web.

"A fairy," Bryn explained, in case any more explanation was needed.

The fairy had her eyes closed and tears of mud dripped from her fragile eyelashes onto Horace's palm. It took her a moment to come to the realisation that his hand was open. When she did, a wide smile crossed her face and she made an action like laughing, though Horace couldn't hear any noise. She kissed his palm and stood up, her wings whirring.

Jerome whipped the pouch over her head and tied the top.

"No!" Horace cried. "What are you doing?"

"What are _you_ doing?" Alda asked back at him. "We're doing our duty as members of the True Guard."

Shocked, he realised that they intended to kill her. And yes, she was magical, yes, his parents had been killed by such creatures, but by werewolves and ogres, not harmless fairies that blended into tree trunks.

"She's harmless," he managed. "There's no point in hurting her. Let's just let her go."

Three pairs of eyes glowered at him.

"Do you want to back out?" Alda wondered, drawing his sword. Bryn drew his too, suddenly not looking at all like the friendliest companion of the three. Jerome tossed the pouch on the ground, the fairy still struggling inside of it and readied his spear.

Horace swallowed, aware that he was outnumbered. He felt for his own sword, then stopped. There was no use in antagonising them further.

"I just think we should focus on magic that will hurt us," he tried. "Fairies aren't a threat."

"They're unnatural," Bryn spat. "You are backing out, you coward!"

"He can't back out," Jerome growled. "He knows far too much to back out now. He'll run back to the battleschool and tell on us like the goody-two-shoes he is."

"Sir Rodney would come after us," Alda carried on the thought. "He's a friend of the stinking rangers and he's a magic supporter."

"The ranger himself might come after us!" Bryn exclaimed, alarmed.

"Good," Jerome scoffed. "We'll meet him at spearpoint."

"Not unless we have to," Bryn argued. "You can't back out Horace. We ain't gonna let you. You swore to the True Guard. You're one of us."

"I'm not going to tell Sir Rodney," Horace assured them. He played for time on the backing out issue, because he wasn't sure himself what the case was.

"Course not," Alda agreed. "You aren't leaving us. You're our fourth member."

"I wasn't planning on leaving," Horace reassured them. "I still have to avenge my parents. I just think it's pointless to attack a fairy of all things."

Alda smirked at this. "Pointless? Not at all. One less magical creature is one less in the population. One by one, we'll kill them all." With this, he stampted down hard on the pouch, lying deserted on the ground.

Horace's eyes widened. When Alda removed his foot, there was no more struggling from inside the bag.

With a sucked in breath, Horace dropped down beside the pouch. The others watched as he opened it and tipped out what was left of the fairy. Her tiny body had been flattened; it appeared almost as if she had been crushed under the weight of her own blood. One wing was crooked, the other had been pressed against the blood to make a pattern of veins in the red. If fairies had bones they were gone now, and with a growing sense of revolted horror, Horace noticed that her eyeballs had popped out.

In the days to come, her smile as she thought he had released her would replay over and over in his mind.

A solid smack and Horace keeled over, his shoulders on fire. Another hit on his ribcage. He fumbled for his sword, but foreign hands ripped it from his scabbard before him.

"This'll teach you not to have doubts," Alda said. Through a haze of pain, he registered that they were hitting him hard, over and over, with the flat edges of their swords. The butt of a spear jammed into his thigh.

"Next time it'll be the blades," Bryn declared. Having seen them mutilate an innocent fairy, Horace didn't doubt it.

Bruises flamed and he sobbed in excruciating pain. They didn't break his bones; they were still planning to keep him around. Horace couldn't find it in himself to be grateful for that. He curled up in a ball, covering his head with his hands.

He wished they would hit his head. Knock him out. Take him on a temporary vacation from bloody fairies and the lonliness of an orphan. They didn't. They kicked him; slammed the flat edge of steel onto his torso, rammed him with the handle of a spear.

It lasted forever and a day. When they finally let him go, he sobbed that he wouldn't leave, he wouldn't doubt them. His mind was weak, he just wanted the pain to stop. Later, he knew he would regret his pathetic snivelling.

They taunted him, called him a crybaby. Horace didn't rise to the bait. He staggered over the trail and retched on the cornfields, as he didn't dare defile Thorntree forest. The decent thing to do would be to bury the fairy. He didn't. Alda, Bryn and Jerome had already mounted and munched on biscuits as they waited for him.

Horace swung into the saddle. His body burned and his head spun. He couldn't bear to look at the fairy. But as they rode out, he stared down at the drops of mud on his palm, the fairy's tears, and the fire elfs words played once more in his head.

""_You seem different to most members of the True Guard. Perhaps you should consider a different career path." _

…...

Halt was turning the sword over in his hands. It was the one the brat (Horace, had his name been?) had abandoned outside his cabin. Perfect craftsmanship and there was no doubt it belonged to the True Guard. That infuriating group! They got more and more troublesome every year!

He was more bothered by the sword than he let on. No one from the True Guard had ever dared to try and assassinate him. Could that be what the boy had aimed to do? No, even they wouldn't send a fifteen year old to deal with a fully fledged ranger.

Unless they had been after Will, which in Halt's mind was even more troublesome because the apprentice couldn't look out for himself as well as he, Halt, could.

At the thought of his apprentice, he became aware that the cabin was silent. Suspiciously silent. It might be surprising for some that a quiet ranger cabin was unusual, given the nature of the corps, but those people had never known a ranger with an apprentice. Rangers and ranger's apprentices were two very different things.

So Halt hid the sword under his bed and entered the living room with no shortage of trepidation. He wasn't sure what he'd find. Anything could happen with Will; the cabin might well have burned to ashes.

It was all intact. That was even more worrying. Will was being quiet and nothing was broken? Or could it be...? He checked the cupboards. No, they had enough coffee to last.

"Will?" Halt asked. When he received no answer, he repeated himself. When still no answer came, he reasoned the boy must be practising overtime, even though Halt had said he could take a break when he completed four more volleys, which by now he should have done.

Halt made his way out of the cabin to the clearing. Abelard tossed his head in greeting as he passed, and Halt waved, not bothering to wonder if horses understood such gestures.

"Will?" he asked again. The clearing was deserted. The targets weren't peppered with arrows, so the apprentice must have packed up after practise. Where he was now was another question entirely.

Halt frowned. He had a nagging sense that something wasn't right here. At least Will was healed from his monthly injuries, so he wasn't helpless if he had run into trouble.

There was no point in rushing to conclusions, Halt told himself. He could see with a mere glance that there had been no fight in the clearing, as there were no tracks to suggest such a thing. He'd taught Will to tread lightly, and since the ground was hard, he made no prints which was fantastic for hunting enemies and not so wonderful when Halt was trying to find him.

Even so, when he knelt down and examined more closely, he saw where the grass had been flattened and he found a trail to follow. He shouldn't have been surprised when he found himself at the base of a tree.

"Will, come down from there," he ordered.

There was a pause, then a sullen boy in a ranger cloak scurried down from the tree and onto solid ground. His eyes were puffy and Halt's frown deepened.

"What's the matter with you?" The grizzled ranger felt awkward around bared emotions and this was no exception. It had been too long since he'd trained Gilan; he'd forgotten how to be the comforting figure.

"Nothing," Will mutttered. "I was just...thinking."

Halt sighed. He scuffed some of the leaves and twigs under the tree with his boot, clearing a patch. Then he settled down, his back against the trunk.

"Halt?" Will asked, baffled.

Halt patted the earth beside him. "Sit," he ordered.

The apprentice followed the intruction. He pinched a dead leaf between his fingers, tearing little pieces off it and throwing them up for the wind to catch.

"Now tell me what's wrong," Halt said. This time, his voice was soft and gentle, even caring.

A sorrowful smile flickered over Will's face, not the kind of smile a fifteen year old should have. "It's just," he began, "I keep thinking about the full moon and what I might do. I dream about it sometimes. What might have happened if you weren't there to control me. How many people will I kill if you aren't there to stop me? I don't know what to do."

"Well to start with, stop dwelling on it," Halt said gruffly. "What ifs are pointless and I will always be here to make sure you don't hurt anyone. And to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"Thank you," Will sighed. "But still I can't just let it go so easily."

Halt nodded, digesting this information. He rested his head against the tree, picking at a strand of grass. "You know Will, everyone in the corps has suffered the very same thoughts your having now."

"Not you," Will muttered.

So Halt said, "there are times when I lose control. Times in the past, times recently. Unfailingly, every eight weeks or so, I get thirsty, and I have to drink." Will turned to look up at his mentor. He knew Halt wasn't talking about water when he said he got thirsty.

"It's not the same as my usual thirst," Halt continued. "I feel compelled to drink from someone specific. Even though I tell myself not to, I have to drink from her. She never wakes up. Sometimes, I wish she would."

"Is it Pauline?" Will asked immediately.

"No," Halt snapped, answering fast and with a sharp enough tone to imply he meant 'yes'. He shot his apprentice a stern glare. "When I was younger, I used to drink too much and kill people. As I got older, I learnt to control myself better in every aspect except for P-her. So, you will always be a werewolf; that was your fate from the moment you were bitten, but you will learn some control over your actions. And until you do, I'm here to help."

Will smiled and nodded. "Alright," he said. "Thanks for telling me that Halt, I feel better now."

"Good," Halt huffed. He frowned, standing up as a flurry of movement by the cabin caught his attention. Will had to jog beside him as he strode towards home.

A white pigeon was fluttering around the window, pecking at it with its beak. It had a roll of parchment tied to its leg.

"What is it?" Will questioned.

Halt held up his hand for silence. He unfolded the paper as the pigeon and his apprentice watched him with matching impatience.

"We have a mission," Halt said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you all so much for the 100 reviews! I've never reached 100 before! I'm so happy! You're all amazing people! **

**Special shout out to reviewer number 100: SeekerMaxia**

**And er, sorry this chapter turned out to be just talking. Also it's a bit shorter, in part because it seemed to have a natural stopping point and in part because school's started so I have less time. **

**Chapter 17**

"A mission? Where are we going? What are we doing? Are we going back to Selsey-"

"Saddle up," Halt ordered crisply. He ignored the barrage of questions. Abelard and Tug flicked their ears and trotted to the edge of the paddock as the ranger strode to meet them, his apprentice almost purple from suppressed questions.

"I'm going to let the baron know we're leaving," Halt continued, speaking with a blunt edge of authority, as he tightened the girths of Abelard's saddle. "You pack our hard rations, enough for three weeks, it shouldn't take longer than that. Clothes too," he added and swung onto Abelard's back. "Get ready and I'll meet you by the edge of Redmont's woods."

"We're leaving right away?" Will questioned. His mentor paused to give him a withering look.

"No Will, we're preparing to leave for when we're eighty."

Will sniffed. The sarcasm hadn't been necessary, he thought. It wasn't his fault he asked useless questions; if his mentor divulged information other than the bare essentials, he might not have so many questions to ask.

"Can't I come with you to see Baron Arald?" Will asked.

Halt shook his head curtly. "No point. We'll be quicker if you get things sorted here."

"Is it really that important that we're quick?"

"Enough," Halt demanded. "Try to use your head before your mouth."

"If you'd just tell me-"

"Will."

He sighed, frustrated. "Sorry, Halt."

Halt nodded once, then set Abelard cantering towards the castle. A dust cloud was stirred in his wake. Will coughed, waving his hands in front of his face as he tried to clear his throat. Dust did nothing to help the heavy air on a thick summer's day.

The sooner he got to the forest, the sooner he'd find out what was going on. Will dashed into the cabin, folded up a spare change of clothes and put them in the saddle bag. He rummaged around the kitchen for their supply of jerkey, dried fruit and other lasting foods they never ate unless they were out working.

Of course he made sure to stock up their saddle bags with coffee beans as well. The pot was also an essential. Tug snuffled a complaint with every new item increasing the weight and Will flashed a tolerant smile.

"Sorry boy," he said. "Halt's orders." Tug didn't have a high opinion of the old ranger anyway. Halt was much too strict on apple distribution as far as the little horse was concerned, so it didn't hurt to add another strike against him.

He had been running in and out of the cabin, and now he ventured inside again to make sure there was nothing he'd forgotten. Will glanced around for inspiration. Kitchen: coffee, hard rations, sneak in the cupcakes that Jenny had made them recently, check, check, check. His bedroom: clothes, spare arrows, nightwear and his sleeping roll, check, check, check, check.

He paused at Halt's room. Will assumed he wasn't required to pack Halt's clothes as well. Halt didn't like anyone creeping into his room and no wonder, when he kept that portrait of Pauline by his bed. Will grinned at the thought. He never failed to find such a gesture by the sour faced ranger humorous.

Will figured that if Halt needed to pack spare clothes, he would stop by at the cabin and do it himself. The apprentice mounted Tug and made his was to the edge of the woods. He wasn't used to leaving abruptly without saying goodbye.

He had to admit he wasn't devastated. Will hated farewells anyway, they made his throat close up and he never knew what to say. A stilted 'bye' just didn't seem enough. He wondered what Alyss would think when she heard the rangers were away. Would she silently scold him for not telling her? Did she even care? They weren't really on speaking terms anyway.

Tug whinnied a greeting as Halt and Abelard arrived. Will suspected his horse was greeting the other of his species rather than the disciplined ranger that forbade him more than one apple at a time.

"So," Will said as soon as his mentor was in earshot, "where are we going? What's this about?"

Halt rolled his eyes at the trees- he liked trees, they were peaceable and never raised their voices above a whisper.

"Halt!" Will whined. He received a glare and hunched his shoulders. "Sorry," he muttered. His mentor hated whining almost as much as he hated questions. Almost. His hate of questions was formiddable.

Not for the first time, Will wished it was easier to get information out of his mentor. He screwed his face up trying to think of something clever or persuasive enough to get his mentor to tell him. As it was, before he came up with anything, Halt broke the silence himself.

"You've heard of Morgarath," he stated.

Will started, a chill jolting down his spine at the name. Oh, he'd heard of Lord Morgarath. Who hadn't? "Yes, what about him? This mission has something to with Lord Morgarath?"

Halt snorted. "He's no lord. He left that title behind when he was banished from the kingdom."

"People call him the Lord of Rain and Night," Will pointed out, a little tentative.

"Peasants and farmers perhaps. The occassional baron with his head in the clouds." Halt shook his head, his scorn apparent. "No, I won't grace that madman with honourable titles. If he is lord of anything, it is the dark, twisted monsters in his mountains, and he is not a true lord of theirs. He rules them with mind control. They have no loyalty."

Will fisted the reins, trying to quell his trepidation. "By monsters, do you mean," he leaned towards his mentor, his voice lowering to a whisper, "the wargals?"

"There are the wargals," Halt confirmed. He didn't whisper and Will almost winced at the confidence he showed when talking about them. Then again, the apprentice supposed a legendary ranger could afford to show some confidence, even about Morgarath. "There are also his trolls, goblins and his right hand man, a sorceror. I shouldn't forget the kalkara."

"Kalkara?"

"A type of troll hybrid. There are very few of them left, but they're the nastiest of the lot. They have the same love for gold as a dragon, only their minds are weaker and can be manipulated into doing one's bidding." Halt glanced at his apprentice's serious features and continued to describe the appearance of the kalkara in morbid detail.

Will shuddered. "Is this mission going to lead us into any kalkara?" He had a horrible suspicion that this was where things were going. Tug shifted restlessly underneath him, sensing his masters foreboding.

"No," Halt reassured him. "That's not our mission."

"So what is our mission?" Then, before an answer was received, another question occurred to him and he couldn't squash it down. "You said Lor- Morgarath had a sorceror as a right hand man. Why would he need a sorceror when he himself is one?"

Halt decided the second question had the shortest, simplest answer so he opted for that. "Morgarath isn't a sorceror. That is a misconception." He saw Will's mouth open and hurried on. "He was merely a baron who revolted against the king- a human baron. The True Guard framed him as a sorceror. If nothing else, that blasted group is dreadfully loyal to the kingdom. After they unearthed a plot to assassinate the then prince Duncan, they soon arranged for him to be banished."

"Under the pretext of him being a sorceror?" Will questioned.

"That's right," Halt nodded.

"Why didn't they just call him out as a traitor?"

"That's much more difficult," Halt explained. "That involves proof and testimonies and lawyers and all sorts of general fuss. This way was simpler. You do realise being a magical creature in human society is a capital offence. We rangers get away with it because we are acknowledged and recognised for who we are, even if they don't know the details." Here, he allowed his lips to curl in something similar to a wolf's grin. His vampire fangs glinted.

"King Duncan's leniency, and his father's before that, means most magical beings can live their lives in human society as long as they are subtle about it," Halt continued. "When Morgarath was framed, he was believed to not only be a sorceror, but to have also used his magic to hurt others. The fact that he was a baron didn't help. And of course, with a quiet word in the king's ear from both the True Guard and the rangers alerting him to Morgarath's treachery, it didn't take long for him to be banished."

Will fidgeted in the saddle. This was a version of past events he hadn't heard before. He had too many questions, yet he wanted to get back to the mission as well. Even so, he had to point one thing out. "But Halt," he said, "when did Morgarath actually attack?" He had heard that the dark lord had sent his minions out in a brutal massacre, then he was banished; none of this subterfuge.

"That came later," Halt told him. "He found himself in his plateu where he learnt mind control-"

"So he is a sorceror!" Will accused.

"No," Halt said, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Anyone can learn such things."

"Can you?"

"If I put my mind to it." Halt glared at him, bristling, daring him to challenge his claim. Will, who sincerely believe his mentor could do anything and hadn't intended to sound challenging (it had been an honest inquiry), returned the attention to the war.

"So after he spent some time in the mountains of rain and night he attacked Araluen?"

"That's right," Halt nodded. "It was a long hard battle but we drove him back into the mountains, where he has resided ever since."

"Because of you," Will grinned. He had to confess he took too much pride in his mentors acheivements. Halt shot him a suspicious frown.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Well," Will cocked his head. "You know. You lead the army through Thorntree."

If anything, Halt's frown deepened. After a long pause he said, "it was a group effort," then, "who told you about that?"

Will was flummoxed and waved his hand in the air. "Halt, everyone knows." He was about to mention it was a common legend told in the ward and stopped himseld just in time. Somehow, he didn't think Halt would be too pleased about that.

"Huh, Morgarath not a sorceror," Will said, trying to change the subject because Halt's scrutionising stare was making him uncomfortable. "Who would have thought it?"

Halt raised an eyebrow. "He may not be a sorceror, but he is something far more dangerous."

Will's eyes widened. He had begun to feel more comfortable about the black lord. Now, his chest tightened once again with nerves.

"What's that?"

Halt offered a grim twitch of his lips. "He's completely mad," he declared. "He's not in his right mind, he's got nothing to loose, and that is the worst combination for anything, human, magic or otherwise."

"I see," Will said, though he didn't see and was still relieved that Morgarath wasn't a sorceror. Just think of all the times he'd been forced to stay in bed to try to sleep because Maria had told him if he got out of bed in the night, Lord Morgarath would turn him into a toad.

"So, the mission?" Will asked.

"So many questions," Halt sighed. He relented when he noticed how anxious his apprentice was. "Relax, we aren't going to run into Morgarath and his cronies."

"You said it had something to do with him though," Will prompted.

"So I did." Halt stretched his arms above his head, easing his muscles before rolling his shoulders. "Morgarath has been stirring up trouble in Celtica," he began. "We aren't sure what exactly. The birds have sense trouble down below in the land of humans but they are unable to make sense of it."

Will blinked. "What? Birds?"

"The corps commandant's main information source," Halt explained and this didn't ease Will's confusion at all. "One of the Celts has managed to leave the country. This, the birds did understand. Our job is simply to find him and escort him back to Redmont, then see if he'll tell us what's going on in Celtica."

"Do we know where to find him?" Will asked.

"Last we heard, he was wandering around the Solitary plains," Halt said. "That's where we're heading." He raised an eyebrow at the doubtful look he received. "It's a wide expanse of land to search, but he should stand out."

"Oh?" Will asked, curious.

"He's a centaur," Halt said. "You don't get many of them in Araluen. And on the solitary plains, well, there are the ogres."

"The what?" Will was suddenly alarmed.

"The ogres," Halt clarified impatiently. "Centaur meat is a delicacy for them. They'll flock to him like vultures. Orgres can remain hidden if they stay still and cover themselves in dirt. They won't have the patience, they'll be worked up to a feeding frenzy when they catch the scent of centaur."

Will was stuck on 'delicacy' and 'feeding frenzy'. He didn't know that he wanted to adventure into the Solitary plains if creatures like that lived there.

"The ancestors of the ogres came from Celtica," Halt added. "That's why their so hooked on centaur meat, it's in their bones and blood, the inborn memory passed from generations."

"Lovely," Will muttered. "Really selling the Solitary plains for a vacation."

"If it's a vacation you want, you're in the wrong job, Will," Halt responded smartly. "Now put your ranger training to good use and give me some peace and quiet for at least ten minutes."

…...

Horace clenched his fists around the reins. Kicker bulked and neighed. The young knight stroked his horse's mane. He couldn't find his voice to speak so he tried to convey everything in the gesture- 'be calm, my faithful mount, be strong and I promise it will be a warm stable full of straw and a juicy apple for you when I have it."

Bryn's face was strained and serious. Alda looked decidedly nervous. Jerome actually grinned, but it was manic and fearful. Before them, stretched out mile after mile, was brittle yellowy was not a tree for the biting wind to ruffle, nor a river in sight. Horace thought, and he assumed the others agreed with him, that it was a dismal place, one that screamed 'turn back!'

"I'm not going any further," Alda muttered. "We'll find someplace else."

Jerome hurried to nod in agreement, but Bryn held up his hand.

"Now hold on," he said. "You said you wanted magical creatures, and this place is supposed to have them."

"This place has enormous monsters!" Alda's voice cracked. "Don't think I haven't heard of it. What we need is a forest. Not this...this...empty plain where we could come across nothing save those we can't dare to touch."

"We had a forest!" Bryn's face was turning an unflattering shade of purple. "We were right by Thorntree. We were too afraid to enter. Now, I think it's time to make a difference. I think it's time to be brave. We have our swords. We can do this."

Jerome was nodding slowly. "I agree," he said, though his breath was undeniably shaky.

Alda snarled. He hated it how Jerome was deferring to Bryn. Alda was supposed to be the leader! Yet here he was, acting like the coward of them all. "Fine," he spat.

Horace's opinion, of course, was not asked. Not after the ordeal with the fairy. His bruises were still visible, still sore, and he thought he was glad they weren't including them. If prompted, he might not be able to hold himself back. "What," he would say, "you're that desperate to find another tiny critter to slaughter?" As it was, he didn't have to say anything and he urged a skittish Kicker after the others.

"Where are we?" he dared to ask.

Bryn glanced around at him without a smile or a speck of welcome. "The Solitary plains," he answered.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The grass had been flattened and crumpled underfoot. Underfoot, that is, by something inordinately big and presumably frightening.

Halt was on one knee surveying the tracks. Will hovered over him. He wasn't liking the plains so far. The grasses stretched out in every direction and the keening of the stone flutes jangled his nerves. According to Halt, the orgres used the constant whistling as a form of navigation. Their eyes were sunken in their faces and they could not see the stars.

"Are these ogre prints?" Will queried.

"That's right," Halt grunted. "What do you notice about them?"

"They're big," Will answered immediately. Halt's look was peircing. The apprentice did a closer inspection and concluded that ogres had three stubby toes and that this one was limping. He told Halt as much and the ranger nodded, rising from his knee.

"Good." The praise was curt and cut off as always. "You remember why these tracks are important?"

There's a massive ogre around, Will thought to himself. He didn't voice this because while it seemed exceedingly important to him, he knew it wasn't the answer Halt was after. Instead he said, "the tracks will lead us to the centaur."

"That's the idea," Halt agreed. "Well, we'd better keep going." He swung into the saddle. Will suppressed a groan as he did the same. Tug shook his head scornfully, '_you can't complain, I'm the one who has to walk mile after mile.'_

"If you were a bit more comfortable to sit on, I'd be fine," Will complained.

Tug rolled his eyes. '_I'm perfectly comfortable. I'm sure even a plush carriege pulled by those dainty sops of horses wouldn't be good enough for you after you'd sat in it all day.'_

"Cushions," Will said, savouring the word almost as much as he did with the thought of bacon- crispy bacon would be a welcome change to beef jerkey. "I could do with cushions. I could lie down in a carriege and sleep."

'_Typical'_ Tug snorted. '_You'd leave it to the horses to do all the work.'_

"Only because you do such a good job," Will replied and was certain he saw a flattered toss of the ranger horse's head.

"Will," Halt said at length, reminding the apprentice that his master was still there. Will flushed at the quizzical look he received. "Do try not to talk to yourself."

"I wasn't," Will muttered, his ears flaming. Halt raised an eyebrow at him.

So they rode on in silence, or at least they didn't talk; it couldn't be described as silence because the stone flutes were playing their funeral procession. Will tried to block it from his mind and steady his frayed nerves. It was next to impossible. He tried humming something jaunty under his breath but he kept forgetting the tune. It was worth notice that Halt didn't snap at him for his singing. The ranger too was affected by the flutes as they got louder and louder.

"I suppose there's one thing good about this place," Will observed, unable to withhold conversation for too long. Halt grunted and he took it as a sign to continue. "I don't have to worry about tonight."

For it would be the full moon and Will would have to transform. There was no one around to hurt save Halt who was capable of looking out for himself.

"That's true," Halt agreed. "The wolf will have lots of room to run around. With any luck, it will go easy on you." They were hoping that Will wouldn't be badly injured in the morning because that would delay them.

"You'll look after Tug, won't you?" Will said, more for conversation than anything else.

"Of course," Halt nodded. "Don't fret, everything will go smoothly."

"I hope so."

"It will." The note of finality rang out through the air before the wind swept it up. Will's cowl had blown off his face and his hair bounced in gusts, his cloak streaming out behind him. Halt had the same problem, though he had one hand holding his hood in place.

Throughout the day the wind persisted. When it came time to set up camp their tents billowed and writhed, making it difficult to peg them in place. There was no campfire, that would be too risky in the open plains, so it was a cheerless camp. More so because they knew what was to come. They rode away from the camp, anticipating the rise of the moon.

At first, Will had wanted to leave Tug behind. Halt reasoned that if they did, he'd have to walk away from camp. He soothed the boy's fears by reminding him the ranger horses were a tough breed and that Tug would stay out of trouble.

"They can sense the difference between you and the wolf," Halt said. "Tug won't dare to get too close. He'll stay a respectful distance with me and Abelard."

Will nodded. He trusted the vampire's judgement. Halt proved his further good judgement when he scanned the sky and motioned for Will to dismount.

"Here's a good enough place as any," he said.

Will's boots hit the ground. He stroked the soft fuzz on Tug's nose. The dark eyes watched him with all their wisdom.

"You behave," he murmured. "Don't cause any trouble."

'_You're talking?'_

"And don't talk back to Halt like that either, he'll confiscate all the apples," Will instructed with a wry grin. He doubted the horse would listen to that part. Tug was too free spoken and had too much- Will searched for a suitable word- character.

Will stripped off his clothes and folded them neatly. His definition of neatly was a tad different to Halt's, so he had to fold them again before he passed them over. Halt put them away in his saddlebags. Sensing what was to come, the horses began to get restlless. They snuffled and pawed the ground.

Will wrapped his arms around himself, feeling exposed in the chill. He crouched in the grass, watching the sky, listening to the whuffles of the horses, waiting for the moon to rise.

It didn't take long. The familiar prickling of his skin grew until it felt like he was on fire. His muscles bulged and mutilated, fur sprouted from his face. Agony suffocated him until it was all he knew, all he could remember, and he howled at the silver orb in the sky.

…

Horace couldn't sleep. The keening drone had kept on all through the day and night. Even Bryn didn't know what it was and when they yelled at him for this, he snapped that he didn't actually know everything, did in fact know nothing much at all about the plains.

So Horace lay awake in his tent, listening to the wind rustling the grass. The cloth sides of his tent caved in then billowed out again. He shivered, burrowing deeper into his sleeping roll. Redmont seemed a long time ago.

Tears prickled the corners of his eyes to think of Jenny and the others. Especially Jenny though, she had always offered him a smile. She always said apple pie was the best solution to the cold. What Horace would give for a slice of her pie, the pastry sprinkled with cinnamon.

He was torn from his memories and his drooling by a wicked howl. He'd heard a similar one in Redmont. Wolves. Or perhaps something more sinister. Horace felt for his sword. His fingers closed around the hilt. With a metallic shing, he pulled it from the scabbard.

Sleep evaded him, even with the comfort of a weapon close to hand. He heard howls, growls and that ever present high pitched drone. He wondered if their camp fire would frighten off any prowling creatures, or draw them with the moths.

Unable to sleep, he crawled from his tent. Alda was on watch so it was no surprise to see him illuminated by the fire, staring into the distance. But Jerome was also up, prodding the fire with a stick.

Horace edged closer. He stretched his hands out, warming them, watching the red light of the fire dance over his knuckles. The others barely glanced in his direction. Sparks gusted in the wind, crackling in the air.

He heard the howl again, this time closer. Horace set his teeth, peering around the scenery, but the firelight dazzled his eyes and he couldn't make anything out. It occurred to him that perhaps Alda who was on watch shouldn't be so close to the fire. When he brought this up, Alda told him several rude things and that if he had a problem, he could take over the watch.

Horace couldn't sleep anyway. He moved away and bundled his jacket tighter around him. He kept his sword ready in his hand. It took some time for his eyes to adjust. When they did, shadows flickered across his vision and he saw dark shapes moving on the horizen. At least, he thought he did, it might have been his imagination because when he stared hard at them he couldn't make anything out and he would feel sercure until something moved in his peripheral vision again.

The waving grass played tricks on him. He still didn't know what the keening noise was and it felt to be a the plains themselves, singing farewell to ignorant travellers. Horace shuddered.

By the time the moon began to fade he had dark rings under his eyes. He was so tired yet he couldn't sleep. All night he had remained in the same position, watching over the grasslands. Now that dawn was near the howls came less often.

He began to count the seconds between the howls. When ten minutes passed without one, he began to relax. Horace stretched his limbs, his sword still dangling from his hands. He stamped his feet to get some blood flowing.

He had been holding on a desperate need to go to the bathroom. As the sky lightened and the stars slowly faded, he trotted some metres from the camp to relieve himself. Alda and Jerome had conked out sometime earlier.

Horace peered out over the horizen. Now that he could see the outline of his hand, he could also see further. He was certain there was something there. Could it be a horse? It looked like a horse.

Encouraged by the lack of howls, Horace ran lightly through the grass. He wasn't intending to get too close and he kept his sword unsheathed. He just wanted to get near enough to see what it was exactly.

It was definitely a horse. A shaggy one too. Before he could lose interest, he spotted a second similar horse. This one, he realised, had a rider. A human? Could it be? All the way out here?

In a blaze of courage, Horace continued to run towards the rider. As he got closer, he could see the rider's back was to him and that said back was covered by a grey green cloak. A ranger. Horace stopped in his tracks.

The ranger turned around, registering his presence by the divine skills they possessed. Horace flinched. He half expected to be speared on an arrow, but the ranger just stared at him, his horse mimicking his studying expression.

"Who's there?" the ranger called sharply. Horace swallowed. He gathered his courage and walked towards the ranger because even if the cloak marked a magical creature, rangers were a familiar symbol of the kingdom.

"I'm, uh, my name's Horace," he said. He noticed that the ranger had a scruffy salt and pepper beard and then he clicked- this was Redmont's ranger! Halt was his name.

"Horace," Halt said thoughtfully. "Horace Altman?"

Horace squirmed under the penetrating stare. He remembered all too well turning up at the cabin in the middle of the night. Did Halt remember that? Of course he did, Horace berated himself for his stupidity. Why else would the ranger have bothered to find out his full name? Speaking of which, how did he know? Had Rodney told him? Or was it sinister sorcery.

"What brings you here?" Halt asked. Horace managed to tear his gaze away from his boots.

"I'm-" he broke off, noticing something else in the grass. A furry mound peeking from the high grass. It moved up and down, like it was breathing. Like a bear in hibernation or, he recalled the howls in the night, a wolf.

The ranger's horse suddenly edged between the...thing...and Horace. The apprentice glanced back up at the stern bearded face.

"I asked what brings you here?" Halt repeated.

Horace was stuck for an answer. His eyes drifted back to the mound. If he looked closely, he could see twitching ears and was that a tail wrapped around the torso? As he watched, the shape suddenly twisted. Alarmed, he leapt back, grusome images hurtling through his mind: of a monster rising from the grasses, of a deformed bear crossed with a wolf. As it happened, nothing huge or monstrous happened. Quite the opposite. The mound just seemed to shrink below the grasses.

Without thinking, Horace hefted his sword and charged at the space where the monster had been. There, lying in the grass naked, was his childhood rival Will.

"No way," Horace whispered. He turned to Halt, who had an arrow nocked to the string of his bow but did not look like using it. The ranger just scrutionised him, as if trying to come to a judgement about him.

Horace ran. He ran all the way back to camp. Alda snapped "where have you been?" as he came barrolling past. Bryn wore startled astonishment and Jerome laughed at the horror on his face. Horace took no notice.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting a ranger racing after him. There was only the grass in the breeze. He could see the silhouette of the shaggy horses on the horizen.

Horace covered his mouth with his hand. Will had been apprenticed as a ranger. He'd known that. Ranger's were reknown for being magical. He'd known that too.

So it only made sense that Will was not a normal human. He sank to the ground. He'd glanced up at the full moon many a time in the sleepless night. A full moon, a sleeping furry lump that could have been a demented wolf changing back into a boy in the morning.

"A werewolf?" Horace whispered to himself. "Will is a werewolf?"

After hearing that, the other three had a lot of questions for him. At first he baulked and avoided answering. It was only when his stomach settled that he told them what he had seen and learnt.

"You say he was in the ward with you?" Bryn asked for confirmation.

Horace stared down at his hands, his knuckles white where they were clenching the hilt of his sword. He nodded, a short, reluctant movement.

Jerome grinned. "We can't have a werewolf roaming around," he said. "Let's kill it."

"Are you mad?!" Alda exclaimed.

"Actually, there's some merit to the idea," Bryn said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Werewolves might be frightening on the full moon but they're normal people the rest of the time. A boy in this case, no older than Horace."

"You can't kill him," Horace frowned. When they looked at him, he struggled to find the right words. "He's with a ranger," he said at last. It was the sole persuasive reason he could come up with.

"So we draw the ranger off," Bryn shrugged. "I could do that- I can probably come up with a distraction. Then you three ambush the werewolf."

It took no time at all for Alda and Jerome to agree to this. In part, their willingness was to do with the fact that Halt was a familiar figure to them and they feared the familiar less than the unknown. Bryn's point about werewolves had also been persuading enough.

Horace smiled and nodded along. His stomach twisted and his knees shook. Plotting to kill- not prank, _kill_- someone he had grown up with had turned things very serious and all too real. He had to forcibly remind himself that if Will was a werewolf, he was of the breed that had killed Horace's family.

Werewolves deserved to die. Will deserved to die.

Horace just had to stop thinking of him by name. It, he corrected himself. He'd think of _it _as _the werewolf _and nothing else. Because that was all it was worthy of. And that was all he could do to not lose his resolve.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Will cringed. Bruises lathered his skin; his left arm in particular was a mass of purple and black. He wasn't even sure how most of it had happened. Halt told him the transformation had gone smoothly, so he assumed his throbbing body was from the act of transforming itsself. He hadn't bothered to ask his other ritualistic question: did anyone see me? After all, who was there to see out in the middle of nowhere?

Tug's rythmic gait seemed choppier than normal. He supposed it was not that Tug had changed, rather his abused body felt every jolt to his core. The jostling of the saddle was sheer torture. Halt wouldn't slow for him. The ranger was adamant that they had to keep up the pace.

Will had to admit it could be worse. The wolf had behaved and he was far better than he had been last time. However Halt had complained that poor Abelard was exhausted- the wolf had charged across the open ranges, forcing the horse to gallop after it all night.

They'd had the morning to rest and recuperate. Halt wasn't about to drive his beloved horse past his limits and he may have been concerned about Will's wellbeing too. Come midday, they ate a brief lunch, then mounted and they'd been riding hard ever since.

Will groaned. He was surprised that his mentor didn't react, not even to scold him for his weakness. Halt appeared to be deep in thought. His eyebrows were furrowed and he stared stolidly at Abelards mane.

"Halt?"

Torn from his thoughts, the ranger looked up, already frowning as he anticipated a question. He was right.

"Is something wrong?" Wil allowed a trickle of concern to enter his voice.

"No," Halt replied instantly. He hadn't intended to come across as curt as he did and he tacked on a few more words to compensate, "I was just-" he cut himself off before he said 'I was just thinking,' a statement that was bound to prompt retribution in the form of 'always a dangerous pastime.' He'd said it enough times to his apprentice. No doubt Will would be happy to return the favour.

"-concentrating on the trail," Halt finished, smooth enough for his apprentice not to notice the falter.

Will cast a pointed glance at the massive prints. "It requires concentration?"

"If you don't concentrate you'll miss things," Halt scolded. "Has the ogre caught the scent of the centaur yet?"

Will was thrown by the sudden question. He answered with no small amount of uncertainty. "There's no way to tell?"

"Of course there's a way to tell," Halt berated him. "Just look at those prints- and look closely."

Will narrowed his eyes as he peered at the ground. At last he came to a conclusion. "They're closer together."

"So what does that tell you?"

Will thought for a moment. "It's moving faster."

"Which means?" Halt prompted when it became apparant his apprentice had stopped before finishing the theory.

"It means," Will clenched the reigns in all seriousness, "that yes, the ogre has caught the scent of the centaur. It's following him right now." He paused then added nervously. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Halt tapped his chin. "You tell me. Are you right?"

Will hesitated. He sat a little taller and straightened his shoulders. "Yes," he said. "I'm right."

"Good." Halt nodded, a swift display of approval. "Let's pick up the pace."

They did, and Will's thighs ached more than ever, and his bruises throbbed and he constant swaying in time to Tug's gait became excruciating. He tried to distract himself by taking extra focus on the tracks, but the same footprints could only hold his attention for so long, regardless of what Halt said about concentration.

He could find one bright spot in the everlasting Solitary plains. They were moving away from the stone flutes and their awful wails. Yes, that was definitely a good point, Will thought. It helped to cheer him up a little. Not a lot. One could only be so happy when they were expecting to come across ogres.

Still, he looked for anything he could find to keep himself in high spirits. As the shadows lengthened, he had another source of distraction. Halt shot him a pointed glance and gestured towards the ground.

"There's two of them," Will observed. The second ogre came from the north and crossed the path of the other. They continued together. "Do ogres make friends?"

"Friends- hardly," Halt sniffed. "They do hunt together sometimes and they have a form of communication with each other though its no more intelligible than the grunts of the wargals."

"Why do they hunt together?" Will inquired, never one to shy away from questions.

Halt shrugged. "Who knows? It's easier I suppose." He spotted his apprentice's disappointment. Will made no secret that he expected his mentor to know everything about everything. "We can't understand their language, Will. Sometimes guessing is all you can do."

"I suppose," Will conceded. His tone left no doubt that he thought Halt should be capable of finding a way to know for certain. That's what Halt did best after all- knowing things.

It wasn't long before they found another new development in the tracks. The ogre prints met perpindicular to a trail of hoofprints. Will had a bout of sympathy for the centaur who remained oblivious to the ogres appraching him.

Halt declared that they would get some rest here. It was a decision that had mixed emotions for them both. They were tired and saddle-sore. Even so, now that they knew they were close to the centaur, it was daunting to stop and leave him to his own devices out there.

"Just an hours rest," Halt announced. "It'll give you and the horses time to recover."

"What about you?" Will asked.

"I'll keep watch."

So they loosened the saddle girths and fed Tug and Abelard oats and an apple each. Will tucked into his sleeping roll. At first, despite his weariness, he found it difficult to sleep. He glanced over his shoulder at the cloaked figure staring into the distance as if he expected something was out there.

"Halt?" he called without thinking.

"Go to sleep," Halt instructed.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Not particularly," was the answer he received. Then, "if I am later, we can stop and you can take the watch."

"Alright," Will sighed. He closed his eyes. The wind whistled through the grass. He was exhausted yet his body refused to sleep. "Halt?" he asked again.

A huff of exasperation. "What now?"

"Is there something out there?" Will rolled over to peer anxiously at his mentor.

"Nothing that's worth worrying about," Halt replied. That wasn't the stout 'no' Will had hoped for.

"So no ogres nearby?" he asked just to clarify.

Halt rolled his eyes. He treaded over to his apprentice and settled cross legged by his sleeping roll. Surprised, Will watched as a gentle and fatherly hand rubbed his shoulder.

"There are no ogres," Halt promised. "Not right now. We'll have to worry about them later though." He saw his apprentices anxiety and patted the shoulder. "Don't worry, they're not as bad as they seem. Anyway," he continued, turning to the horizen as if he was adressing some far away person, "at least they'll scare off anyone else who tries to follow us."

"Is there someone following us?" Will asked, alarmed.

Halt scoffed. "If anyone thinks they can follow me without being detected, they need to reavaluate their intelligence," he bragged. Which was not, as Will realised later, the same as saying no one was following them. At the time, he accepted that answer and it wasn't long before sleep claimed him.

Will woke an hour later. Through groggy eyes he saw the horses snuffling the ground, searching for greenery to graze on. Halt had remained by his side, alert. It was all as it had been when Will drifted off. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was that state of first waking when he's not sure exactly how much time had passed. He felt almost like a different person, fresher at the least. Then he looked around at the red hue of evening and it didn't seem right. He shouldn't be waking at this hour.

"Pack up your sleeping roll," Halt instructed. He attended to the horses, tightening their girths again.

Will stretched his limbs. He still felt like he'd been pummelled and the saddle wasn't a highlight to look forward to. Tug nudged his shoulder as if he'd seen right into Will's head. _Stop whining, _he seemed to be saying.

"S'all right for you," Will winged. "You're not a werewolf-er-werehorse."

Tug shook his head and shoulders, his mane rippling. _Were-unicorn actually, _he said with great dignity befitting a horse of his stature.

Will sniffed. "Unicorn my foot. You don't have a horn as far as I can see. Anyway, unicorns are supposed to be sleek and shiny, black or white maybe, not-"

_Not what? _Tug had a glint of accusation in his eye. Will cleared his throat, concerned that perhaps he had offended his horse.

_Not what?_ Tug pressed.

"Well," Will began, "you know." A pause. "I just can't picture a unicorn as being, well, grey and, uhm, shaggy, er, and lacking bulk as such. And I always imagined them to have horns. Visible horns that could be seen and felt."

Tug snorted. He turned his rear end to his master and flicked his tail, strutting off with all the pride a shaggy little pony can muster.

"No disrespect!" Will called after him. "I think your coat and hair-length are perfect. Your figure is delightfully barrel shaped and the lack of a horn is endearing." Tug didn't turn around and accept the apology. "You've done it now Will," the apprentice muttered to himself. He did rely on his mount and the mission would be more challenging if master and horse couldn't settle their differences.

"When you've quite finished bickering with your steed?" Halt drawled. He was already astride Abelard.

The tips of Will's ears turned red and he waved his arms in flustered circles. Halt raised an eyebrow. The apprentice hurried to pack away his sleeping roll and swing into the saddle of a suddenly co-operative horse under Halt's cool observation.

"Are you getting along now?" Halt inquired, gesturing between the werewolf and the ranger horse.

"Yes," Will muttered. He ducked his head, drawing the hood of his cloak further over his face to hide his flaming cheeks.

On they rode. Every now and again, the horses tossed their heads. Will stiffened, but Halt never reacted, so he figured it was the faint sound of the stone flutes setting them on edge. Halt knew best after all. Halt always knew best.

They got into a steady pattern. Two hours solid riding, half an hour rest for one while the other kept watch then they switched, then kept on riding. It was tough going. Tug didn't engage in conversation- he held a grudge. Halt didn't talk either but that was just him being, well, Halt.

As the sky lightened, they stopped for breakfast. Tough biscuits that resembled rocks; heavily salted beef; sundried grapes; stale cheese and water to wash it down. No coffee. A fire was too risky. Will bit his tongue to stop himself complaining. One lot of whining had gotten him into trouble with his horse and anyway, it wouldn't change the fact that Halt refused to light even a small fire. The senior ranger's regret at the lack of his favoutire hot beverage was apparent on his downcast features.

Will was knawing on a biscuit when they heard it. A rumble like approaching storm clouds. The sky was blue and dusted with powdery clouds. There was no trace of sour weather.

"What was that?" he asked fearfully. Halt was already shoving what they hadn't eaten back into sacks.

"The ogres," he answered briefly. "Hurry, mount up!"

Will fumbled with the straps in his anticipation as he did up Tug's girths. Halt tapped the pommel impatiently, waiting with thunderous eyes as his apprentice swung into the saddle. He urged Abelard into a gallop, Tug not far behind.

The hooves stirred up dust on the ogre prints. The rumble came again, perhaps a fraction higher. Will bent double over Tug's neck, urging him on.

"Why is it making that noise?" he questioned over the drumming hoofbeats.

"They're laughing," Halt replied. "Celebrating."

"Celebrating fresh centaur meat?" Will asked, feeling vaguelly ill as Halt nodded.

Will had to force his hand to relax aroud his bow. They had their weapons in easy reach, prepared for combat. Will was so focused on the impending confrontation that he almost missed it when Halt raised his hand. Following his mentor's lead, he tugged on the reigns to slow Tug.

"We'll leave the horses here and continue on foot," Halt declared. They did so with breif instructions for Tug and Abelard to stay put.

The long grasses shivered around them. They spotted the silhouette of two bulging shapes protruding from that ever lasting grass. Will shivered. He was suddenly glad they'd left Tug out of harms way. As Halt said, centaur meat isn't that different from horse and the ogres would be pleased with desert.

"Anyway," he said. "Rather than fighting with bursts of speed on our horses, we'd be better off remaining hidden." Which was not something that easy in the flat land where the grass curled as the trod on it.

However, they did cover less ground this way. Halt made them crouch, prowling through the grasses like a lion. He whispered, "stay very quiet," to Will. Not that the apprentice needed telling. He'd already been briefed on the ogres earlier in the day. They were big, ugly, fat, with sores on their leathery skin and snot dribbling from wide nostrils. A few strands of black hair sprouted from their scalp, or so he had been told. They had limited eyesight, but they had keen hearing and smell.

With any luck, Halt had said, they wouldn't smell them because they'd be so focused on the centaur, a stench unrivalled in the ogre world. Then all they had to do was remain stealthy. At Will's trepidation, he had clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Cheer up," he had said, "stealth is what rangers do best."

Now there were no encouraging words. Nor any sound at all from the bearded ranger. Will did his best to match his mentor's skillfull silence. He kept his other lessons in mind too. Instead of focusing on the bulk of the ogres, he scanned the whole terrain.

"Halt," he whispered for he had just noticed another shape on the horizen, growing bigger by the minute.

"I know," Halt hissed back. The rumble of the ogre's laugh reminded them of the consequences of talking. Halt made a hand gesture to drop down lower and stay in place.

It was a rider heading towards them, on a battlehorse that jangled with the metal studs on it's harness. The rider appeared to be young and tall with olive skin. His surcoat was blue, the mark of a second year apprentice, though Will didn't know if that applied outside of Redmont.

As the rider neared, Will became aware that he was not actually heading towards them. Rather he was riding in their general direction and looking around, unable to see them among the grasses.

"Hello?" the young knight asked tentatively.

Will flicked his gaze to Halt, who slowly held up one finger to say 'don't answer him'. Under the shadow of his cloak, Will dared to cast his eyes around. He thought he could see the upright figures of three people wandering over.

"I don't know where they went!" the rider called. A chill crept up Will's spine. Halt stiffened beside him. Had the knight not noticed the ogres not so far away? He knew if they were drawn over, he and Halt would be in the midst of it. Worse, the whomever the rider had been addressing (Will assumed the other three silhouettes) he believed they hadn't heard him and hollored even louder, "I don't know where they are!"

The knight shook his head. "Dammit," he muttered. "Maybe they didn't go this way. I could have sworn they were following those tracks in the ground."

Will frowned. Why would the knight want to follow them? He noticed the tension in Halt's jaw. Over his shoulder, the three on foot were drawing closer, though he couldn't make out any features other than their bright surcoats, one of which was white.

"Back," Halt hissed suddenly, creeping backwards through the grass. Will followed his example. He glanced over at the ogres and his heart leapt into his throat. They were charging across the open ground, suprisingly quiet and swift for their mass. He had just enough time to suppose they had to be to hunt centaurs before Halt's iron arm pushed him to the ground.

The quickened heartbeat of his mentor was against his upper elbow. Halt's scabbard prodded his side but he didn't have the wits about him to feel uncomfortable for just then the grass folded back as a heavy body rushed past it. He registered hoofbeats and yells.

Halt rolled off of him. It took Will seconds to recover- and see the chaos. The lone knight was galloping away and the ogres were after him. They hadn't noticed him and Halt; had run right past them. The bearded ranger was running a few paces after the ogres, his longbow thrumming as he released an arrow.

Will nocked his own arrow without a fumble despite his thudding heart. He blessed the hours of practise. The other three knights on foot were sprinting for wherever they had left their horses. They screamed at each other: "What the hell is that thing!?" "I told you we should never have come here!"

It was a mistake. Will could see what his mentor meant by those times when you wanted to shake someone. He couldn't fathom why they blundered away like that- couldn't they see they'd be better off lying still? He didn't bother to consider that they'd had no ranger training. Without really thinking about it, the basics Halt had taught him were becoming knowledge he felt everyone should know.

One of the ogres swerved towards the three on foot. Halt was swearing under his breath as he fired another arrow, distracting the one after the horseman.

"Stay back!" he snapped at Will.

The apprentice stumbled backwards, his eyes widening in horror as the ogre howled in pain and turned towards Halt. There were two arrows peircing his back now.

Still the other ogre was occupied with the three on foot. On impulse, Will ran towards them, his bow in his hands and an arrow ready. He fired but in his panic, he did the unthinkable- he missed. Only by the breadth of a hair. It still counted as a miss and his confidence shrivelled.

There was no time to think. Halt had wanted a strategic, sneaky and devious plan to eliminate them from a distance, not this full on battle. That hope was gone now. Will aimed another arrow and fired. This time, it struck deep into the ogres shoulder. It roared and lashed out at the nearest being. The freckled knight was lifted into the air by massive hands.

The ogre's muscles rippled with power. It slammed the young knight into the ground. Head first, splitting his skull. Blood splattered the grasses. Another boy, a blond one, screamed and redoubled his efforts to get away.

But the third knight on foot lifted his sword. Will had to suppress a yell of surprise- that was no knight, that was a mere apprentice! Horace! If it was the place for questions, he wouldn't be able to breath for he'd be asking so many.

Horace held his ground for a few strokes. He swept his sword back and forth, swing, swing, swing. The blade grazed the ogres hannds and stomach, never quite deep enough for a fatal blow. Realising the sword wasn't about to kill him, the ogre strode right up to the point, ignoring sprays of his own murky blood, to thrust a heavy fist that could splinter bone at the boy.

Horace staggered back. Will's arrows tore through the air, lodging in the flabby forearm.

"Ugly brute!" Will taunted at the top of his lungs. "Come get me! Bring it on!" he words didn't matter, it was the loud noises that coaxed the ogre to leave Horace and head for Will instead.

He fired as many arrows as he could while hopping backwards. He couldn't outrun the ogre. His only hope was to kill it before it killed him. But he had a recurve bow, not as powerful as a full longbow, and the ogre's leathery skin protected it from deep penetration. Will had one advantage: his small size. He darted and weaved, infuriating it by spitting arrows, then scampering around a sharp corner. It might have a fast lope over distances but it couldn't turn tight corners anywhere near as fast as Will would.

Then Will slipped. On the dead knight's blood. He ventured to close to the shattered skull and found himself on the ground, the ogre looming over him-

-with a black shafted arrow in it's neck. The tip of Halt's arrow protuded from the front of its neck, the feathers at the back. He would later tell Will there was a weak spot just before its shoulders began. For now, he hurried over to help his apprentice up. The ogre toppled over.

"I told you to stay out of it," Halt fussed. He did a quick medical check over to make sure his apprentice was alright. Will glanced down at the body by his feet. Bile and vomit rose in his throat; he had to avert his eyes. He was glad for the supportive hand at his elbow.

The other ogre was also dead, an arrow through its neck. The rider reigned in, cantering back to them. He stopped when he saw the dead knight, the colour leaking from his face.

Horace's blood stained sword dangled at his side. He too was pale. His eyes were darker than their usual blue. Much darker, almost lifeless. He looked at Will as if he was struggling to comprehend something. Back in their ward days, Will might have mentioned that Horace sturggled to comprehend most things. Now, that seemed inappropriate. Besides, Will too was failing to understand why the apprentice knight was in the Solitary plains.

"Horace Altman," Halt said as if observing a speciman of mild interest. "I suppose these other halfwits are Alda, Jerome and Bryn?"

"How do you know?" Horace asked, apalled, paling even further. Will asked the same thing, equally surprised but somehwhat less horrified.

"I'm not completely ignorant," Halt supplied. "Rodney has told me about your being expelled from the battleshool."

"You were expelled?!" Will asked.

Horace pressed his lips together.

"After all," Halt continued and Will would forever wonder how he could sound so calm when standing a foot from a dead man, "you did show up at my cabin in the middle of the night. You can hardly expect me to let that go without becoming a little inquisitive about you." Horace had begun to shake here. The olive skinned boy nudged his horse with his toe. Halt stepped forward and seized the reigns. "You aren't going anywhere." There was a gleam in his eye that didn't bode well.

"Which one are you?" Halt demanded.

The olive skinned boy cringed under the glare. "B-Bryn."

"And this one?" Halt nodded to the puddle of blood. The boys all grimanced and clutched their mouths and stomachs to quell the urge to throw up.

"J-Jerome," Bryn whispered.

"Right. In that case, I suspect it may interest blondey over there that I have in my possession a sword of the True Guard," Halt said. Alda, who had been running away, paused as the carrying voice reached him.

"I have no use for swords. I may be willing to return it," Halt added. Alda scurried over.

"You have my father's sword?" he inquired. Halt nodded. Alda's shoulders trembled. He swung his sword in the air. "You thief!" he accused. Halt stamped on his ankle; hard. Alda dropped to the ground, his sword cluttering in the grass.

"That was a mistake," Halt said. His tone was so calm that Will knew he was utterly furious. "Now," Halt continued in an almost silky tone. "You are going to tell me why you have been following us. But not yet," he added when Horace opened his mouth. "No, first, we have a meeting with a centaur that cannot be delayed any longer."

"Then let us go," Horace tried. "You don't need us."

One minute later, Alda, Bryn and Horace had their wrists tied, roped to each other and to Bryn's horse. Abelard and Tug arrived at a shrill whistle. The battleschool apprentices had to stumble on foot. Their horses were tethered and Halt didn't want to waste time returning for them.

Jerome's body was left for the vultures.

**This was an extra long chapter...Please review!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Dude, twenty chapters. Thanks for sticking with me this long. **

***Gasps* fifty people favourited this? Thanks everyone for your support!**

**SowhyamInotgettingfiftyrevie wsperchapteryoulurkers_kiddingkidding._**

They followed the footprints of the ogres. Will could see the events replaying in the dirt. He could read the tracks as if someone had written a diary on the ground, a record of the ogres charging towards their victims. He felt the echo of the gut wrenching terror rising in his throat. Will wondered how Horace could be so calm. The apprentice knight's face was closed off as he stumbled behind the horse.

He offered a wan smile at his childhood enemy. Horace glanced away. Will couldn't really blame him when the apprentice ranger was riding and he was forced to jog.

"Why were you following us?" Will blurted out.

No answer. Bryn and Alda were gasping for air; they weren't capable of articulate speech and besides, it was Horace's reasoning Will wanted to hear. Yet no answer came from the young knight. Will remembered Maria mentioning that Horace had been banished from the battleschool. Just what kind of trouble was his childhood tormentor involved with?

Maybe, in the past, Will would have found it humorous to watch Horace struggle behind a horse. But now he just felt uncomfortable in being in a better position. He had never hated Horace, not really.

"So, um," Will scratched the nape of his neck. "You missed Maria's picnic."

"How nice for you," Horace muttered. He stumbled, regained his footing and continued after the horse. "Sounds like you're having a jolly time at Redmont."

"Yes, well," Will frowned. "Jenny missed you."

Horace's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. "Stay away from Jen," he warned.

Taken aback, Will uttered a confused laugh, the sort of laugh when one was trying to make friends but was a bit lost in the conversation. "What is that supposed to mean?" He tried to keep all outrage out of the words and say them in a joking manner.

"Just stay away from her," Horace said. "She's a friend. My parents...you've already..." he finished a mangled sentence with an outtake of breath. He looked every bit as lost as Will, more so because Will had the comfort of his mentor in the plains and Horace was alone. There was the other two- Will struggled to recall their names. Neither of them seemed pleasant and he got the impression as they sweared and shoved each other that they weren't friends.

He wanted to tell them jogging behind the horse would be easier if they stopped jostling each other. Will didn't dare, it might be presumptious, and he didn't want to give Horace an excuse to be unpleasant.

"Will?" Horace asked at length. Will turned back to him, surprised at being addressed.

"What is it?"

"Why?"

"Um," Will was thrown by the question that seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Why what?"

Horace choked on an odd little laugh. He was fixated on the ground, on putting one foot in front of the other. It took him a while to answer and Will gave up, glancing back to the front where he could make out the hazy outline of- of a crooked shack?

"The ogre," Horace muttered. Will could barely make it out over the clopping hooves of Bryn's horse (Tug was as subtle as ever) and if he hadn't been trained to use his hearing to its full advantage, he might have missed the quiet mumble. "It was about to kill me when you distracted it. You saved my life. Why?"

Perplexed, Will searched for an answer. "Well, I guess I, well. I figured...I could hardly, oh I don't know." What was he supposed to say to something like that? "I mean, I didn't think it through or anything. But I couldn't let you, you know. Why would you even ask that?"

Horace was watching him carefully now. His blue eyes looked brighter, more peircing than they'd ever been in the ward. He was a changed boy.

"I just did what anyone would," Will continued, finding what he wanted to say. "I know we've fought in the past but I've never...I've never hated you or anything like that." He grinned, a fraction embarrassed.

He couldn't understand why Horace's shoulders slumped.

"You probably would have done the same for me, right?" Will added. When there came no response, his grin slipped. "Right?"

Without meeting his eye, Horace whispered, "I wouldn't help a werewolf."

Will paled. He became aware that Alda was glowering at him, and that Bryn was trying to squirm from his bonds. Horace snuck a glance at him to see if it was true, just in case somewhere along the way they'd been a misunderstanding.

"Huh," Will breathed to himself. "Huh, huh, huh." He forced a smile and urged Tug to catch up with Abelard. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was going on. Horace knew? How could that be? Halt had always taken precautions to keep his transformations a secret.

Had someone told Horace? But the only Maria and Halt knew. Maria was in Redmont and hadn't been in touch with Horace for some time. So then, Halt? No, he wouldn't betray Will. The apprentice shook his head. He had no clue as for how long Horace had known, perhaps Maria had told him before he left Redmont.

Halt was riding ahead of them. Will could see his stiff back. The ranger was listening no doubt. Will turned back to Horace. He had to know, if only to put an end to his reeling mind.

"How do you know?" he pressed. A flicker of something- disappointment?- crossed Horace's face. "How do you know?" Will asked again.

"Saw you," Horace muttered. "On the last full moon. You were just turning back."

"But," Will's head darted between Horace and Halt. "But Halt said...Halt said...Halt! You said no one had seen me!"

"I had to have your mind focused on the mission," Halt explained gruffly. "You'd have been distracted if I told you."

Appalled, Will hunched his shoulders, his hands tightening on the reigns. What else had the ranger hidden from him? For all he knew, Alyss might have followed him after he'd abandoned her with dinner. She might know too. That could be why she was so distanced around him now. Maybe it wasn't that he'd cut their dinner date short, maybe she knew he was a monster!

He scrubbed a hand through his curly fringe. The plains were ever more ominous, spurred on by the fact that he wasn't entirely sure he could trust his one confident. Will bite his lip. Rangers had always been spooky figures that served the kingdom. He'd been apprehensive of Halt to begin with. Parhaps he'd been right to be. It seemed to him that he couldn't trust his mentor as much as he had hoped.

"It was for your own good," Halt huffed, guessing what was going on his apprentice's mind.

"I still think you might have told me!" Will protested. He recalled how Halt had been attentive in the nights- he always was but this had been an extra precaution as if observing something he'd known was there; much like he might have observed a rat to see when it noticed the cat was stalking it.

"Did you know they were following us?" Will asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to see if they would give up when they noticed the ogre tracks," Halt replied, in the tone of one who knows he isn't obliged to reply but takes pity on the questioner anyway. "I was surprised when they continued after us." He turned in the saddle to study the despairing apprentices. "Curious," he added after a short pause.

"Besides," he continued, "we have more worrisome things to deal with than three apprentices."

"I still think you could have-" Will stopped the thought as he realised they were riding up to a caravan. It was tipped on it's side, roof sagging and wheels askew. A great deal more interesting was the calves of a horse sticking out from underneath it, and the torso of a man twisted as he tried to push it off of him.

The centuar flinched at the sight of them. His irises were large and black and engulfed his eyes- the whites were only visible as they widened dramatically. His nose was long and dignified, his cheekbones high. A shaggy fringe tickled his eyelashes. His hair was thick and bushy to his collarbone, yet he was cleanshaven. His bare torso too was hairless, aside from a dusting of fine hair on his chest.

His lips drew back to show his big, flat teeth and gums. The centaur redoubled his efforts to shove the caravan off himself.

"Peace," Halt said, dismounting and gesturing for Will to do the same. "We're here to help. We're king's rangers."

The centuar relaxed a fraction, though he still watched them with some trepidation. Halt braced himself against the caravan; he and Will managed to lift it off the centaur.

Will still kept his book of magical creatures and he persisted in writing notes when he discovered new things. Now, he mentally scribbled a new note to add: when centaurs fall over, it is funny to watch them try and get up.

Indeed, the centaur rocked to his side to gather his legs under him, hefting his tubby black-and-white mottled body upright. It looked more awkward for his windmilling human arms as he tried to balance. Will couldn't suppress a giggle. He regretted it when the inhuman eyes turned on him. Dismounted as he was, he had to admit the centaur was an impressive speciman. Especially because he was a good deal taller than Will, who suddenly felt miniscule.

"I'm called Halt, and this is my apprentice Will," Halt introduced. The centaur cocked a slender eyebrow at the other three boys, huffing and puffing behind Bryn's horse. "Those are battleschool apprentices, Horace, Brian and Alan. Don't worry about them, they're harmless."

"And these three?" the centaur asked. His voice had a distinct croak in it, worse than a human with a cold.

At first, Will was confused. The centaur, still watching them warily, held out his hand for Abelard to nibbled at his fingers.

"Abelard and Tug," Halt introduced. "And Bruce's horse."

The centuar hummed. He appeared to be relaxing in the presence of the three horses, all of which nudged closer to him. He snuffled and nickered. Will and Halt exchanged a glance- they both had a firm belief that their horses understood araluen and that whinnies weren't needed to communicate with them.

"Unicorns," the centaur murmured. "How rare."

Tug puffed out his chest. '_See Will?' _he seemed to be saying.

"You're still not a proper unicorn," Will muttered under his breath. "I still can't see your horn."

"I can," the centaur said. His dark eyes blinked as if he couldn't possibly believe Will could be so blind.

He'd add that to his notes as well: centaurs can see stupid nonexistant horns on supposed unicorns and it makes supposed unicorns smug.

Halt was not one to bandy words for long. "What is your name?" he prompted. The centuar nickered something under his breath, then answered in araluen.

"Faul," he said. "You can call me Faul."

"We're here to escort you to Redmont," Halt explained. Faul's head whipped up.

"Do I get a choice in that?" he asked, rather disdainfully.

"We are trying to help you," Halt said, a trifle stiff in manner. "You won't last out here with the ogres. When we arrive at Redmont, you will be free to come and go as you please."

Faul wasn't put at ease. He remained suspicious and didn't bother to hide it. "So you're just here to take me to safety out of the goodness of your heart."

"Is that so hard to believe?" Halt questioned, summoning his most innocent expression. It was a hard one for him to pull off. Innocent was not a word anyone would use to describe him.

Faul didn't answer. Halt took that as a yes and continued. "All we want is information," he declared. "We hear that Morgarath had been stirring trouble in Celtica."

A glimmer of understanding passed over the centaur's features. "Ah," he said, although the noise was more of a bray then anything else. "In that case, I suppose I will tell you." He glanced at the travel stained group. "I have food in my caravan, if you'd like."

The young men drooled at the thought of food.

"We can't stop for long," Halt warned. He swept his gaze around the horizen. Will shivered- was his mentor expecting more trouble?

"I will tell you of Celtica's troubles as we eat," Faul said. The caravan was for storage, not for riding on. In fact, Faul himself pulled it along behind him. He told this to Will as the two of them set up a picnic. The battleschool apprentices tugged on their ropes. Halt was unsympathetic, they had to remained tied up. At least they could sit and eat with the others, despite their bindings.

"This is all your fault," Alda snarled.

"My fault?" Bryn scoffed.

"You're the one who didn't warn us about those ogres!"

"I didn't see them!"

"Enough," Halt intervened. "Adam, Billy, that's enough."

"My name's Alda," Alda spluttered. Halt's cocked eyebrow portrayed his I-couldn't-care-less stand better than any words could. Alda prompty shut up. Bryn was eyeing the centaur with as much suspicion as Faul himself showed.

Will was bursting with questions. He held them back, he knew in this situation he had to wait until Faul was ready to talk. Otherwise he'd end up interrogating the poor centaur. So to avoid rattling off all his questions, he filled his mouth with food. Apples mostly- Faul had a lot of apples. A lot. They gave the horses a couple. He had an excess of sugar cubes too. Again, Tug and Abelard and Bryn's horse had a treat. Will noticed Horace pocketing a few of these delicacies and his opinion of the bigger boy rose immensely for he assumed they were for his own horse tethered out there in the solitary plains.

Will glanced at his lap. He suffered a flare of sympathy for the abandoned horses, waiting for their masters to return for them. He was about to ask Halt if they'd go back for them and stopped himself just in time. Remembering his resolve, he chomped on a slice of stale bread.

"So what's happening in Celtica?" Halt asked.

Faul swallowed a lump of sugar. "Morgarath is capturing miners and taking them to the plateu," he said, licking his fingers.

"Miners?" Will exclaimed. "Why miners?"

"I don't know. I'm not one myself. I was with a bunch of them, my only human friends, when they came."

"They?" Will asked.

"Wargals," Faul told him. "They marched us over the fissure and within the mountains of rain and night. I saw many terrible things there. Much suffering." His face darkened. "They made us mine until we dropped dead. I have more strength than humans; they would make me pull carts with their pickaxes into the depths of the mountains. Then I had to fill the carts with gold and take it to the top."

"Gold?" Halt frowned. "What use has an exiled baron for gold?"

"I have no clue," Faul sighed. "I couldn't figure out why we had been brought there. Only that we were. And I quickly grew weary of the rocks. So I arranged to deliver the gold straight to Morgarath himself."

A cold hand touched Will's back at the name. It had much the same affect on the others; Horace nervously stuffed sugar cube into his mouth and gagged on the sweetness. Alda and Bryn trembled.

"I told them it would be quicker and more conveniant," Faul said. He was getting involved in his story now, his memories lapping around him like he's dived into the sea. "I got to see the fresh air again. And I saw it. A stone, the size of both my hands or thereabouts. There were wargals everywhere. As I hesitated, they brought in a new column of prisoners that screamed and fought to escape. In the confusion I managed to hide in a cluster of rocks. I hid there, so very hungry and sick feeling, and I watched."

"It took me a long time to figure it out." Faul didn't give them time to ask questions. "But I'm certain of it. That rock was in a box on a podium, and no one was allowed to touch it. Only Morgarath. And when his wargals grew restless, he went to it and held it to his temple and they settled down. They would not go near it; they feared it. I am certain it was that rock that gives Lord Morgarath his ability to use mind control on the wargals."

Will gasped. "So if we destroy the rock, he won't have an army?"

Halt frowned thoughtfully. "How did you wind up here?"

"I ran," Faul answered simply. "They had a simple rope bridge hitched across the ravine. I came out of hiding to keep working, slowly learning my ways around the tunnel. When I found the exit, I ran over the bridge. There's no wargal who can catch me." He rubbed just above a healing scar on his flank. He hadn't gotten away completely unskathed; indeed there had been a week of not knowing if he could survive.

"Well, first things first," Halt said, standing up and brushing off the seat of his pants. "We need to get Faul and you boys back to Redmont. We'll see what to do about this rock after that."

**So someone reviewed ages ago and suggested using a centaur for something, and I had to because the idea of a centaur is just so cool. Cooler even than werewolves, in my opinion, and vampires are so overused they're not even cool anymore...**

**Anyway, the point was a) thanks to the person who suggested that and b) why is it that after I decided to have a centaur, my next thought was "Faul is a good name for a centaur." Why Faul? Is there a character called Faul or something similar in a book I've read and I'm subconsciously copying the name from it? Please let me know if you know any Fauls, I can't think of any but that doesn't mean there isn't one lurking around my subconsciousness. **

**It's just that it was straight away that my mind told me, right, a centaur should be called Faul and I don't understand where it even came from. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Anyone remember that fire elf? He was a while back but he's returning now. **

The dusty, travel stained party reigned in at the crest overlooking Redmont. Tug nudged his way to stand beside Abelard. The cloaks of the ranger and his apprentice streamed in the wind as they proudly overlooked their home. Horace, Bryn and Alda were considerably less proud, with good reason. Their shoulders hunched and they fiddled with the strands of mane, braiding them; smoothing them out again for braids didn't befit the dignity of a battlehorse.

They were on horseback. Will had hinted to Faul that the battlehorses had been abandoned. The centaur wouldn't stand for it; he dug his hooves in and refused to move an inch until Halt finished glowering at Will and agreed they could go back for the horses.

Halt's charity even extended to allow Horace and the others to be unbound and free to move. This declaration was accompanied with a gruff threat that had them stumbling over themselves to persuade him they wouldn't act up.

Of course, he'd quizzed the boys extensively: why were you following us? What were you hoping to gain? Horace threaded his fingers together and fixed his gaze on the ground. Alda had elected to take the lead.

"We were lost," he'd said. "Horace saw you then came back to tell us, that was why he didn't ask for your help right away, but then we thought we'd better head out after you to plead for assisstance. We were out here in the middle of nowhere because we were on our way to visit my auntie um-ah- lia. Umalia. That's her name; she's foreign. She lives in-in Caraway so we were heading there-"

"Funny that you travelled south east to the solitary plains when Caraway is north east," Halt interrupted smoothly. "And it is a coincidence that you thought to visit your auntie Umalia on the same day you were banished from Redmont's battleschool."

"Well that is-"

"Think carefully boy," Halt cautioned. "There was a lot of detail in there and not much of it was true."

Alda had winced. Bryn and Horace hung their heads lower and tried to disappear. But the ranger hadn't been able to get anything out of them. They cowared and trembled under his gaze, yet they were more afraid of what he would do if he found out they had been trying to kill his apprentice, so they didn't leak a word. However they did leak an occasional whimper or sniffle, and once, when Halt approached behind them as they were talking about werewolves and said, "is that so?" Alda leaked a bit more and had to change his pants.

Horace was the quietest of them. Around the campfire at night, he avoided Will and flinched if their hands brushed when they both reached for the coffee pot. After a few nights of this, Will took his dinner to his tent to eat. The next night, Halt made all three ex-battleschool apprentices eat away from the fire. In quiet voices they had talked about the three new additions to their party. They're up to no good, Halt had said, watch out for them.

Through all this, Faul had been a nervous presence; twitching at every slight noise and fretting about the greeting he would get at Redmont. He relaxed a bit after Halt told him how the baron and the craftmasters accepted his vampirism. Will also felt better after hearing this. It reminded him that there were people out there who were okay with it, unlike Horace who never took his eyes off the ranger's apprentice.

Will had taken it upon himself to avoid the bigger boy, much as he had done in their days at the ward. Those days seemed so long ago. So much had happened though it hadn't even been a year. To satisfy his curiosity he questioned Halt about Horace's intentions.

"I don't know exactly what's going on with them," Halt had replied. "It's a safe bet to say it's something to do with the True Guard."

This wasn't enough. Some days ago, Will would have accepted that. Now he wasn't sure what to think about anything. After all, Halt had neglected to mention that Horace had seen Will transform. What else was the ranger keeping from him?

Now, with Redmont stretching before them, Halt led them in a steady canter down the hill. It wasn't long until they reached the cabin at the fringes of the woods. The battleschool apprentices gazed nervously at the treeline and their horses were just as skittish. Tug and Abelard tossed their heads- we're home.

"Faul and I will go to see the baron," Halt said. "As for you four, well, what are we to do with three of you in particular?"

Horace, Bryn and Alda shuffled their feet. Will had to have sympathy for them.

"I think to begin with," Halt continued, "you can take those stolen swords back to the battleschool and apologise to Rodney."

Their hands simultaneously went to their scabbards. Alda went to protest and Bryn nudged him into silence. Subdued, he bit his lip.

"Something to say boy?" Halt asked. Will wondered if anyone else could indentify the challenge in his voice.

"I'm not the only one who's stolen a sword!" Alda burst out. Bryn nudged him again and mouthed 'shut up.'

"Then you admit you did steal it?" The calmness and hint of amusement disguised something far more dangerous.

"No I-I never-" Realising his mistake, Alda flushed, knawing on his lip. He peeked under his lashes at the ranger's glittering eyes.

"Then perhaps you'd like to apologise," Halt said. "All three of you. Or do I need to accompany you there?"

"No," Horace conceded. "We'll all apologise." The other two frowned at him. He appeared to be genuinely ashamed by the whole thing; embarrassed even. He shot another look at Will.

"Off you go then," Halt jerked his head down the dusty road. The three of them urged their weary battlehorses clopping to the battleschool. "Will, you get the coffee ready for when I get back."

"Can't I come with you?" Will pleaded.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "All I'm doing is telling the baron what we've learnt, organising what'll happen to Faul-" the centaur visibly flinched and Halt snorted. "For gods sake, I meant where you'll stay," he snapped. Faul relaxed again. He turned back to his apprentice. "It'll be dead boring. Just take a break for the rest of the day, you've earned it."

His eyebrow lifted further at the forlorn gaze. "What's the problem? You usually leap at any chance to see that ward girl."

"Yeah well." Will shrugged. "She'll be busy."

If the ranger sensed there was a problem, he didn't let on to it. He clapped his apprentice's shoulder. "Give Tug a thorough grooming," he instructed. "Then you can fill out everything you've learnt in that magical creatures book of yours and don't forget the coffee." As he had expected, the boy brightened at the having a course of action to follow.

"I won't," Will assured. Of course he wouldn't; he himself was craving a cup. As he thought it, he was glad he had some time off.

He bedded down Tug and set the pot to boil. A sheen of dust had settled over the surfaces and the wildflowers in the windowsill had wilted. The rumble of the heating coffee pot gave some sense of homeliness.

Will decided he'd leave pouring over the damp pages of the book for later. He tossed out the flowers and polished the vase; paused to have a mug of steaming coffee. The broom had been neglected, as had the duster, and he set about disposing of the cobwebs.

He was outside collecting fresh wildflowers when he heard approaching footsteps. Will glanced up with some misgivings as Horace, Bryn and Alda approached him. They still had their swords at their belts, he noticed.

"Hello," Will said. He brushed dirt from his knees as he stood up. The flowers were still in his fist and he let them flutter to the ground, conscious that they made him look like a sap.

"Hello," Bryn replied stiffly. There was a pause.

"Didn't you take the swords back?" Will questioned.

"Sir Rodney let us keep them," Bryn explained. "We just thought we'd come by and say thank you."

"Thank you?" Will repeated in astonishment.

"You know, for helping us out with the ogres," Bryn elaborated. He held out his hand, leaning casually on one leg. Will grinned. Their sour companions had been grateful after all. He stepped forward and gripped the calloused palm in his own work-scarred one.

Bryn tightened his hold. Will had no time to utter a squeak. He was pulled into the other boy's chest and at the same time, Alda brought the flat side of his sword cracking down on his shoulders. The pain was agonising.

Bryn joined in. Or it might have been Horace. Will couldn't tell. He was blinded by tears and choking sobbed gasps. It didn't help that it had barely been a week since his transformation. His bruises and cuts hadn't healed; they flamed under steel.

The flowers he had gathered were crushed underfoot. Will struggled to comprehend how it had come to this; what was behind this brutal attack?

The numbing pain had almost an echo. It took him a moment to process that they had finished hitting him. The red, raw skin on his back burned as he rolled over. It was a mistake, the pain from thudding on the ground made his head spin. Will blinked to clear his eyes, taking a moment to breath.

Horace stood between him and the other two. He had his sword drawn and deflected the blows with blinding speed. Bryn, taken be surprise, retreated. Alda stepped forward. He was a more confident fighter out of the two.

"What are you doing?" Alda spat. "Orphan scum. You're defending a werewolf!"

Will was too dizzy to point out that Alda had effectively answered his own question (don't ask if you know the answer, Halt always said) so he tried to clear his head as he listened to Horace's response.

"He's also, well, he's also Will," Horace said, as if he'd thought hard over the past few days and come to a decision. Which he probably had, considering how quiet he'd been."Look Bryn, I grew up with him. He's a normal person."

"He's a werewolf!"

"He's also a normal person," Horace declared.

Alda glowered at him. Then he lunged. Horace deflected the blow and their clashes rose into the air. Clang. Slash. Ring. Steel against steel. The peace around the cabin was desecrated, the grass crumpled underfoot and crying for help. Tug whinnied; he could hear the danger, but in his paddocks he was powerless to intervene. Each whinny was shriller than the last, an increasing note of panic.

Horace was the more skilled swordsman. He bore down on his opponant, hitting with the flat. A bruise on Alda's knee. An almost cracked rib; not quite; Horace fought with mercy and had no experience of hurting others.

Then Alda swept his sword and it bit into Horace's thigh. The metallic smell of blood rose into the air. Horace howled. The edge. He'd used the edge.

Alda pulled it back. Horace's leg buckled. He sank to the ground, soft tears spilling down his cheeks. Will tried to get up and help. His bruises thrummed, feirce as the wolf inside him, and he failed to stand fast enough.

Horace let out a soundless cry. Soundless; yet somehow Will could still hear it over his whimpers and pants, screaming into the blue sky. How could that sky be so vivid he was watching Alda lift his sword in preperation to slice Horace's head from his shoulders?

This was no comradely duel. Horace had been out to defend his childhood rival. Alda had been out to kill. If he couldn't kill a werewolf, he'd settle for the traitor who had turned on him.

That was when the black shafted arrow whizzed right past Alda's collar. It missed his shoulder by a centimetre, arcing down to jab into the ground between him and Horace. Alda staggered back in shock, to be met with an iron arm around his neck. He squirmed around, flinching as he met the dark eyes of Halt.

"Anything to say?" Halt drawled.

"N-no sir," Alda stammered.

"And you?"

Bryn had been hesitating in the 'sidelines' though the 'sidelines' in this case was just a patch of grass under an oak. He twitched as he was adressed. There was no need for Halt to draw his knives; the longbow in his hand was enough of a threat. They'd seen his skill against the ogres and again just now.

"Get on out of here," Halt said scornfully. "Before I change my mind and do something unpleasant to you."

"Yessir," Alda and Bryn chorused. They scampered away. Beads of blood dripped from the blade of Alda's sword. Plop, plop, plop; coppery specks on the grass.

"And you?" Halt nodded towards Horace. It was more of a question than an order.

"He saved me," Will said. "He interfered when they tried to beat me."

"Is that so?" Halt mused. He stooped and helped his apprentice up. Will winced as a strong hand touched his back. "Go on inside," he said. "Now Horace, let's get you to the infirmary."

"The infirmary?" Horace repeated dumbly.

"Have they damaged your ears?"

"No but," he hesitated, "you aren't going to turn me into a toad?"

Halt snorted. "Then I'd have a toad hopping around my cabin. What would be the point in that?"

"I, well, I," Horace stopped himself before he said something ridiculous. "Thank you ranger!" He cupped his thigh, the blood leaking past his fingers.

"My name is Halt," he said evenly. "Now stand up, you can't sit here all day." Though his words were stern, he steadied his apprentice and released him to hold out his hand for the other boy. Horace gripped it and was pulled to his feet, leaning against the shoulder of the wiry ranger.

"Thank you Halt," Horace said again. "Will, I wanted to apologise." Before the ranger's apprentice could ask the immediate question- what in araluen for?- he continued. "I judged you because you were a werewolf and not by using my eyes. Anyone can see you aren't evil. I know we haven't always gotten along, but I wanted you to know that from now on, if you ever need help, you can call on me."

A grin split Will's face. "Thanks," he said. "The same goes for you. I'll help you if you need it." He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Horace had found out he was a werewolf. He'd accepted it. Accepted it!

Will wanted to see Alyss after all. He was filled with such elation that he realised his back wasn't as sore as he'd first thought. He nodded to Horace and Horace grinned as he nodded in return.

Halt waited patiently. "Right; inside with you; infirmary for you."

"Wait," Will cut in. "Just tell me a little bit, are we going after the stone?" He couldn't wait any longer to find out. A rush of enthusiasm floored his body. The wildflowers looked brighter and the cabin less damp.

Halt rolled his eyes. "You're insatiable." He answered anyway. "It depends what the corps commandant decides." While they were on the road, they'd sent a message to ranger command using a lone pigeon station. Such stations were dotted throughout the country.

"When will he decide?" Will pressed.

"Use your head," Halt chastised. "He'll have decided already. We just have to wait until his reply reaches us. It'll be within the next two weeks."

…..

Horace didn't like the infirmary. It was white, far too white. Not white like the purity of a wedding dress, or the snowflakes drifting to the ground. It was white paint, white bedsheets, pristine without a crease or wrinkle. The nurse tucked the (white) blankets to his chin and it felt as if he was being strangled. The worst part was the smell of dying flesh in the room next to his that wafted to him. Someone was in a bad state over there. It all looked so clean, and yet it smelt like a dodgy back alley.

"Are you feeling better master Horace?" the nurse asked. He swung his legs over the side, allowing her to bandage his thigh. He wasn't badly injured, in fact, he should have been out of there after she'd cleaned his wound, but he was an orphan banished from his craft. He had nowhere to go. So the nurse with her plump dimpled cheeks had allowed him to stay.

"Much." Horace smiled at her. He couldn't overstay his welcome any longer. Maybe he could beg the baron to get him into horse school. The whole concept of begging was distasteful. Besides, he didn't know if he'd be able to keep Kicker. The horse, along with his equipment, had been returned to the battleschool.

As such, he no longer had his surcoat or chainmail. He was clad in a long shirt (bright purple because Maria had been to visit him and hadn't liked all the white either) and baggy pants.

"Where will you go?" the nurse asked. He tried to appear unconcerned.

"I might help out at the ward. Maria will give me a room, I'm sure. I can get a job somewhere." He could see years of boring work and uncertainty stretched before him. The chance of becoming a knight had been ruined. It wasn't an opportunity most low class citizens got and Horace had blown it with his involvement in Alda, Bryn and Jerome. He should have known they were trouble right from the start. He shouldn't have let his desire to avenge his parents cloud his judgement.

There was a tap on the doorframe. Horace leapt to his feet and executed a clumsy bow, wincing as he moved his leg. It was none other than Sir Rodney himself, regarding the young man.

"Might we have a moment alone?" he asked the nurse, who bobbed her head and tottered out to tend the next patients.

"Sir, I'm very sorry for how I behaved," Horace said. "I know you didn't have to accept me but you did, you let me enter your battleschool and I let you down. I know there's nothing I can say to excuse my actions."

Rodney settled on the bed. He hooked one leg over the other and gestured for the young man to sit beside him. Horace perched on the edge.

"All this white is disconcerting," Rodney observed absently. He turned his attention back to the anxious boy. "Every growing boy makes mistakes. They steal, they fight, they're crude. Although, there aren't many of them who start hunting magical creatures and end up all the way in the Solitary Plains."

Horace hung his head lower. He felt worse with each second. If he could have disappeared, he would have.

"Alda and Bryn have left Redmont. I don't know where they're headed and I don't care either," Rodney continued. "What do you think about that?"

"We all deserve it," Horace admitted.

"I've spoken to Halt," Rodney said. Horace started.

"Halt?"

"That's right. He thinks you should be reinstated into the battleschool."

"He does?"

Rodney was very stern. His eyebrows arched and he peered down his noise. "I agree with him. I'm giving you one last chance."

"You are? Thank you sir!" Horace laughed, elated. "You won't regret it. I'll work twice as hard as everyone else."

Rodney chuckled. "You'll have to in order to catch up on all the things they've learnt while you were off on your little adventure. Tommorrow, before sun up, I want you reporting to the school.

"Yes sir!"

"Good." Rodney stood up. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Horace Altman. I must go now because I've spent more than my share of time in the infirmary and it brings back all sorts of memories. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?"

He hadn't thought much about it, but the answer slid off his tongue without pause. "I'm going to go thank Halt."

"I think that's a good idea," Rodney agreed.

So Horace put on soft boots and buckled up his belt. He strolled through the town, feeling far brighter than he had in a long while. There was a road that didn't have much in the way of traffic and he jogged down that way. Hoofbeats thudded behind him, muffled on the turf. The horse and it's rider passed him.

Horace jumped. As he looked up- because you don't stare at the ground uninterested as a horse passes you- his eyes met glowing red ones. The fire elf, he thought immediately, the one that had told him to pick a different career path and had been right. This was confirmed as he studied the face; the kind of face girls might find aesthetically pleasing.

"Hullo," the fire elf greeted him cheerfully, instant recognition flitting over the red sheen of those inhuman irises. "Found any new career prospects or should I be worried that you'll attack me? It'd be a bit difficult for you of course. I _am_ mounted. I suppose if you moved fast enough you might catch me by surprise. Too late now though." All this was delivered with a wide, teasing grin. He'd tugged on the reigns, slowing his horse to walk beside the boy.

"I found a new career path," Horace said, dazed. "I'm going back to the battleschool."

"That's good," the fire elf said. "I'm glad you've come to your senses. One less member of the True Guard to worry about, even if you and your buddies were rather ineffective."

"You're-" Horace stopped himself, thinking it might be rather blunt and rude. It was just he was surprised. Last time, the elf had been in less distinctive clothes. Now they were nondescript, but anyone could recognise that cloak.

The fire elf grinned at him. "Since I don't have to worry about you chopping my head off, how about an introduction? You can call me Gilan."

**Uh yeah...Gil's hard to write. He's a fire elf. He can conjure flames. And look hot ;)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Sorry it's been too long since the last update. **

Horace hadn't known the meaning of an awkward silence. He remembered going to the market with Maria. There had been a little girl, littler even than him who had thought himself tall back then but really had been a child. She was crying for she'd lost her mother. He remembered thinking that she was as delicate as a flower petal, a fragile, tiny thing. So he'd snuck away from Maria (who'd become quite frantic) to help the girl find her mother. When the two were reunited, all he recalled about the mother was that she smelled of home baking and autumn apples and she ruffled his hair and asked him where his own parents were. That, he had thought, was an awkward silence.

He now changed his mind. That had not been awkward at all. Awkward is riding on the same horse as a fire elf who he had attacked and had turned out to be a ranger. Not just any ranger, but Halt's apprentice, and Halt was responsible for Horace being free of Alda and Bryn. _This_ was awkward.

Since they were both heading for the rangers' cabin, Ranger Gilan had offered to let him sit astride the mare, whom he referred to as Blaze, a perfectly expected name from a fire elf. Horace had been happy enough to walk and gave a polite refusal. But he made the mistake of commenting that he didn't want to give the small horse an extra load to carry, and Gilan seemed reasonably affronted.

"She may be small," the ranger said. "But she'll run all day, however much she has to carry." He appeared so miffed by the mere idea that the horse was too weak to carry a second passenger, that Horace found he couldn't turn the proposal down. So here he was, holding onto the sides of the saddle to keep his balance, the folds of Gilan's ranger cloak touching his legs.

From time to time, Gilan would glance around and offer a smile. "Not planning to behead me yet?" he asked on one occasion. Other than that, the conversation was lacking, and there was a slight tension between them. Horace got much the same impression from Gilan as he did from Halt. They both seemed to be studying him like he was a strange caterpillar in the garden, as if they took great interest in what his next move would be, and as if they couldn't quite grasp what his motives were. Did he enjoy chewing the swan plant, and when would he decide to weave his coccoon?

It was a relief to reach the cabin. He dismounted, shuffling his feet. He half expected the lanky ranger to give him orders of some kind. Gilan just looked at him, then strode up to the door. He hesitated before knocking. Before his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung open.

"Gilan," Halt said. "Abandoning poor Merric fief again? Well, it's probably a blessing for them to be rid of you."

"Hello Halt," Gilan said cheerfully, not at all deterred by the less than enthusiastic greeting. "A good morning to you. All the more good for my mere presence in it, I presume?"

"Of course, Gil," Halt drawled sourly. "Do come in and bless me with your 'mere presence' some more."

Gilan laughed and tossed the hood of his cloak back. He embraced his former mentor, and Horace was surprised to note that Halt's arms went round him in return. He'd never pictured Halt as the hugging type. There was a bit of back slapping- it must have been a while since they'd last seen each other.

A smaller ranger appeared from around the cabin, curiosity drawing him over. He'd heard the voices and couldn't resist investigating. Will nodded to Horace who nodded back, though he felt distinctly out of place.

"Hullo, this must be Will," Gilan said, stepping down the veranda with his hand outstretched. Will shook it, perplexed. His eyes slid to his mentor. Halt inclined his head, encouraging him to introduce himself.

"Yes, I'm Will," the werewolf said. He noted with more than a little interest that the ranger's eyes were a bright shade of red, and his ears tapered to a point. Of course, as a ranger, this young man was probably a magical creature of some kind. Possibly an elf.

"Gilan," the ranger said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Has Halt been whipping you into shape? Making you do all the housework?"

"Yes," Will nodded. "I don't know how he coped before I came along." The last part slipped out. He could feel Halt's sudden frown.

Gilan gave a delighted laugh. "He had me back then. It's what he did before _me_ that I don't understand."

"You? How do you mean?" Will had already realised exactly what he meant. He asked anyway, just to be sure.

"Gilan was my apprentice before you," Halt put in. "He's now the ranger of Merric fief."

Watching them, Horace felt very out of place. He shifted from foot to foot. It crossed his mind that perhaps he should sneak away, but it's impossible to sneak away from rangers. He'd come all the way here, he might as well do as he had intended and thank them.

Halt waved them all inside. "Put the coffee on, Will," he instructed. Gilan moved to bed down his horse, but Halt stopped him. "I'll do it. You must've had a long ride to get here."

"Thanks Halt," Gilan said- his mentor was one of the few people he trusted to take care of his horse. So he hung his cloak on the peg by the door, and sighed as he eased himself into a kitchen chair.

"What brings you here? How long ago when you were an apprentice? Why haven't I heard of you before?" Will was asking, each question pouring straight after the last and leaving no time for answers. Gilan laughed merrily, reflecting on his own experiences of being an apprentice and the irrepressable questions that came with the position.

Horace hung back. It was only when Halt gestured at him that he moved inside. He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering if he could say he wasn't healed after all and he could return to the infirmary. Aside from feeling a bit left out, Horace also realised he didn't want to be in the same room as Gilan and the others. This was not a dislike of them, it was just that he worried it'd come up that he had met with Gilan already and he realised he really didn't want Halt and Will knowing about the encounter.

Will poured out four cups of coffee. "So what are you doing here Horace?" he changed the target to his questions as Gilan wasn't supplying any answers. "How are your injuries? What are you going to do now? Will you go back to battleschool?"

"Ah, yeah," Horace said, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee. "Sir Rodney said I could continue my study under him." He blew on it to cool it, the steam wafting towards the rafters.

"That's great!" Will said with a wide grin. His delight was genuine. Then another question occurred to him. "Why were you expelled in the first place? Was it to do with the True Guard?"

He felt Gilan's eyes on him too, waiting expectantly for the answer. Horace took a sip. He remained standing stiffly by the door.

"Sir Rodney thought we were in the True Guard," he said after a pause.

"Were you?" Will pressed.

"I suppose I sort of was," he admitted. He hurried to add, "not anymore though."

Gilan rocked on his chair, his feet propped up on the table. "How can the True Guard have appealed to you at all?" he mused. Horace shrugged. He didn't want to disclose his goal to avenge his parents.

He was saved from answering by Halt returning from the stable. The bearded ranger was given a cup by his apprentice, which he accepted with a contented sigh. He took a seat at the head of the table, shifting to get comfortable.

"What are you doing hovering around boy?" he frowned at Horace. "Have a seat."

Horace shook his head. He gulped the last of his coffee. It was still hot and it scalded his tongue. He forced himself to swallow and put the cup on the bench with a clatter. "No thanks," he said. He didn't want to intrude. It seemed to him that the rangers had important business to talk about. "I just came by to say thank you for saving me from the ogres."

"Ogres?" Gilan asked, his curiosity spiked.

"We're even on that score," Will said. "You saved me from -uh- Alan and Brian."

"Alda and Bryn," Horace corrected automatically. He realised it didn't matter what their names were. They weren't going to be bothering him from now on.

"Who are these people?" Gilan questioned.

"Nonetheless, I wanted to thank you properly. For that and," he turned to Halt, "for talking to Sir Rodney and getting me reinstated in the battleschool."

"No need for that." Halt dismissed the matter. "I'm the one who told Rodney you were in the True Guard in the first place anyway."

Gilan glanced around the three of them. "Is there an interesting story here?"

"Story? Yes. Interesting? Not particularly," Halt answered briefly.

"You told Sir Rodney?" Will questioned. "Was that after he showed up at the cabin?"

Halt nodded. Horace did the same, because the battlemaster had mentioned that when he'd had the four of them in his study.

"I also wanted to apologise," Horace continued.

"Horace," Halt stopped him. "Really. There's no need."

Horace straightened his shoulders. A weight had been lifted from him. He grinned, pleased that he seemed to have extablished a firm friendship with the rangers.

"Alright then, I should be going," he said. The floorboards creaked; they seemed louder because the rangers were all uncanny in their silence. He didn't know how they always managed to move like they had the pads of a wolf. Horace paused as he clenched the doorknob.

"Ah, Will," he added, turning around. "I won't tell anyone that you're a-a you know what."

"A werewolf," Halt put in. Horace still didn't like the sound of the word. He didn't like how the ranger could say it with such matter-of-fact acceptance. It struck him that Halt must be something too- well, he could find out another time.

"Yes, right. I won't tell."

"Thanks, Horace," Will said with a smile. "See you 'round."

"Yeah, see you." Horace offered a smile in return. The smile didn't leave him as he closed the door behind him. He thought he'd catch up with Jenny, George and Alyss next.

When the apprentice knight left, Will turned his attention back to their other visitor. "So what are you doing here? What kind of magical creature are you anyway?"

"I have a few questions of my own," Gilan chuckled, gesturing at the door to where the young man had left. "He seems like a nice chap."

"You seem to be familiar with him," Halt pointed out.

"Oh, we had a little mishap during one of my undercover investigations. You know how people are when you don't wear your ranger cloak. Suddenly, they're all much more bold." Gilan spoke easily, in a cheerful tone.

"A mishap? What sort of mishap?" Will inquired.

"I'm more interested in hearing about these ogres," Gilan said.

"Apprentices, ex-apprentice, all the same with the questions," Halt grumbled. Apparently masters had a similar problem, for he then turned to Gilan. "What brings you here?" They could fill each other in on mishaps and ogres later, he thought.

Gilan smiled. It was just like his former mentor to cut right to the point. "It's about Faul and the stone," he supplied. "Crowley sent me. He wants the three of us- that is, you, me and Will here- to sneak into the mountains and destroy the stone."

The name Crowley was familiar. He assumed it was the corps commandant's name, and that Halt had mentioned that detail in passing. The grumpy ranger usually referred to his superior as 'that idiot' or some such term. Anyway, there were more important things to take notice of in what Gilan had said. Like 'destroy' and 'sneak into the mountains."

"You don't mean," Will squeaked, cleared his throat and continued in a more controlled pitch, "the mountains of rain and night? Morgarath's mountains?"

"Those are the ones," Gilan said gleefully, not at all worried.

"Crowley'll meet us at the fissure, I assume?" Halt inquired.

"Yes," Gilan nodded. "He says he'll fly us over onto the plateau."

Will thought he must have heard that wrong. Halt nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Gilan had explained it with a perfectly straight face. Either Will had heard wrong, or they'd drunken one too many cups of coffee and it had gone to their heads.

"Fly?" he repeated. "Did you just say he'd fly us over the fissure?"

"Have you got cotton wool in your ears?" Halt retorted. Before his apprentice could voice any more of his confusion, he was talking to Gilan again. "What did he say about Faul?"

"Crowley thinks Faul should come with us," Gilan told him.

"I thought as much," Halt nodded. "He knows where we can find the stone. And we'll be able to land further away from Morgarath's headquarters because he knows the land and can guide us."

"That was Crowley's thinking in a nutshell," Gilan agreed. "Speaking of nuts, have we anything to eat? I'm starved."

Halt eased from his chair. He made to move towards the cupboards, but Gilan's next words stopped him.

"Do we have anything to eat that's not your cooking?"

Halt huffed, reasonably offended. He crossed his arms. "If my cooking was good enough for you when you were a boy, it's good enough for you now."

"It was never good enough for me," Gilan said. "It was just that I didn't have much of a choice in the matter when I was your apprentice."

Halt snorted in disgust. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "I hope you starve."

"We could get something from the castle kitchens," Will suggested. "I have a friend who's serving her apprenticeship there under Master Chubb."

"Sounds excellent!" Gilan beamed. "I remember Master Chubb's cooking when I lived here. I'm sure your friend will do well under him."

Halt sniffed. "Off you go then," he said stiffly.

"You can join us," Gilan said reasonably.

Halt was already shaking his head. "I don't have time to be frolocking around the kitchens. Some of us actually do our jobs. I'm going to clear our leave of absence with the baron."

"Suit yourself," Gilan shrugged.

The three of them rode up to the castle together in the end, although Halt glared at them and grumbled under his breath that apprentices were ungrateful and it would do them good to know what real hunger felt like.

On the way, Will managed to draw out some more answers from Gilan, who recalled how frustrating close mouthed people could be. The apprentice discovered that he was a fire elf, and got a demonstration- Gilan conjured a flame on his fingertip. It came out of nowhere, he just held up his forefinger and it seemed to grow from his nail until it flickered. The skin around it blackened.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Will frowned.

"Could be worse," Gilan answered with a shrug. He closed his fist and the tiny flame was snuffed. Will had to wince at the burn marks on his finger, but Gilan only smiled and put it in his mouth. When he removed it, there was no trace that an injury had ever been there. Will gaped.

"The saliva of a fire elf heals burns," Gilan explained.

"That doesn't fix the poor curtains," Halt grumbled. "Or the stable. Or the cabin. Or the forest."

Gilan didn't have much to say to this. He shrugged, glanced at Will's inquisitive features; shrugged again.

"You burnt down the forest?" Will asked.

"No, he's exaggerrating." Gilan waved it off with a laugh, as if the very idea was ludicrous. "It was only the west half."

Will thought he'd have to keep a close eye on anything flammable while Gilan was staying with them.

They made their way to the kitchens and Halt went a different way. It was a bustle of activity, hot pots being rushed around, people stirring and shouting 'have you prepared the meat yet?' 'Not quite, give me five minutes.' 'What are you doing? More salt for carrots!' 'no, less is more, less is more."

Then over the top of them, 'stop your quibbling!' This was Master Chubb himself of course. He billowed around his kitchen, his white jacket meticulously clean and glowing despite the sweat dripping down his red cheeks from the heat. His rounded face twisted as he saw them. He didn't like any disrupptions.

But Jenny was already stepping forward. "I'll see to it," she said. He frowned, nodded, and moved off. She giggled and wove expertly through the crowd to throw her arms around Will's neck.

"Will! How lovely to see you!" She looked up at the other ranger, suddenly reserved. "Hello," she said, subdued.

"Jenny, this is Gilan, Halt's apprentice before me. Gilan this is Jenny," Will introduced. They smiled at each other. He was astounded to note that Jenny had flushed cheeks, but he passed it off as the kitchen heat.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, clasping her hands in front of her.

"We just want something nice to eat," Will said.

"Well, the master won't like it if I carve up the meat just for you," she told them. "But I might be able to find a mince pie or some such thing. Or if you wait, I can whip you up something."

"No need to go out of way," Gilan said. "Anything is better than Halt's cooking."

She giggled and drifted off. True to her word, she came back with a steaming pie. "Careful, it's hot," she cautioned. She had wrapped a teatowel around it, but Gilan took it without bothering with the extra protection.

"It's alright," he assured her with a grin. "I can handle a little heat." Indeed, it didn't seem to bother him at all that the steaming tray was fresh out of the oven.

"That's alright then. I hope you enjoy it, Gilan, Will." Jenny fluttered her fingertips at them.

"What are you doing slacking about?" Chubb demanded, his ever present ladle whipping in a dangerous circle.

"Sorry sir!" Jenny squeaked. She hurried back to her station and began dicing onions. Her knife whirred with such speed that Will had to concede that in her own way, she was more skilled with a knife than him.

As he and Gilan left, humming their appreciation of the meal and drooling as the scent wafted to them, he thought he heard Jenny say to one of the other girls, "he's _dashing_, and with such exotic eyes."

…...

Halt left the baron's office. He shut the door behind him with barely a click, knowing full well that Arald was still trying to figure out how he did that. His boots made no sound on the stairwell as he made his way down.

Not many others could match his silent pace. He heard light footsteps pattering up. He thought he recognised them and hesitated. Now would be a good time to wrap himself in his cloak and disappear in the wall. But before he made up his mind, she had seen him standing still like a fool on the stairs.

Halt coughed and continued walking, trying to look as if there'd been a reason for him to stop. She intercepted him, offering a smile.

"Good afternoon," Pauline greeted.

"Afternoon," he grunted, attempting to slip past her. She wouldn't let him. He had to forcibly remind himself that she didn't know. Didn't know he was a vampire, didn't know there had been more than one occasion in which he drunk her blood. He was far too addicted to her sweet blood.

"How have you been?" Pauline asked politely.

"Good," he muttered. Guilt weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn't talk to her; didn't want to. She had a real knack for making him feel pathetic. She was the only one, everyone else took the hint that he was foreboding and short tempered because he didn't want to talk. Not Pauline, she just made him feel silly if he ignored her.

"I was wondering," Pauline began, and he glared at her, hoping it would stop her from continuing. "If you would care to join me for dinner one evening?"

"Can't," Halt said crisply. He tried to move on, to end the discussion, but she touched his arm with her graceful fingers.

"Any reason why not?" she inquired, a smile frozen on her face.

He shrugged. It would be better to let her down right away. Tell her he wasn't interested. He couldn't. Because he was. So he said instead, "I'm leaving on a mission."

Her eyebrows arched. "But you just got home from one!" she exclaimed. He could read the underlying question there- are you lying?

"Yes, well, being a ranger is a busy job," he said with a deep sigh, exasperrated. Halt wished she'd leave it alone. It wasn't the first time she'd invited him to dinner. Then there was the parties and the dances and the feasts. He never went. How could he? He was drinking her blood on a regular basis and it wasn't fair to get involved with her without her knowing that- and he wasn't about to tell her.

"When you come home then," Pauline pressed.

"Maybe," he said- as always. "I'll see. I might be busy."

"Because being a ranger is a busy job," she quoted back at him. "Fine, come find me if you have time." The stiffness of her tone, frosted with ice, betrayed her unreadable expression. She was angry and frustrated.

"Will do," Halt said, with no intention at all to do so. This time she did let him pass. He ghosted down the stairs, fighting his vampire desire to find one of her rich veins and taste that creamy blood once more.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

It was only his first year as a ranger's apprentice and already Will was becoming used to travelling. He didn't bother complaining about the hard rations anymore, or the aches when he dismounted in the evening, or the heaviness of his eyelids as he kept watch after another long day.

However, he was also becoming used to being among friends. Halt and Gilan were constantly engaging in light hearted banter, and they often included him. Will had developed a friendship with the tall fire elf. He found Gilan to be bright and funny. When Will started worrying about how wise it was to ride up to Morgarath's realm, Gilan would distract him with dazzling fire tricks, manipulating the flame from hand to hand and writing words in the air.

That was all well and good, but was it_ useful _at all? Will found out the answer to this when they had a few days of rain. They struggled to find dry firewood and night descended upon them. They were all shivering, but Gilan lit a fire on his hand to keep them warm. Eventually, they gave up on finding firewood and warmed up the coffee pot over his hand. They sipped their coffee and curled up in their tents, leaving Halt with the first watch. Will noticed that Gilan's palm was black and felt awful even when the elf licked it and the skin returned to a healthy colour.

It was hard to sleep in the cold. Will wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his sleeping roll over his head to keep his ears warm. The chill always seemed to find him. He'd feel a rock or twig beneath the leather floor of his tent, so he'd roll over to get more comfortable, and the cold air would trail down his spine.

On nights like this, he found that his mind wandered. Sometimes it was all the way back to his childhood, other times to the Kelpie at Celsey, or when he found out Halt was a vampire. This night, his drifting thoughts led him to a week or so before, as they left Redmont.

Alyss had come to say goodbye to him. She'd made it quite clear with an aloof shrug that she still wasn't pleased with him. But he knew she'd never had a chance to say goodbye to her parents so she always made sure to farewell her friends.

He grinned to himself. It meant that at least they were still friends. She still cared about him, even if just a fraction of what she had felt before.

Faul was the only dull spot in their company. He whined about the cold at night and the heat at midday, the wind and the walking (it's alright for you, you ride on horses and make them do the hard work), he made out that his hooves were lodged with stones but wouldn't let them look to confirm this. Will couldn't see how the same centaur had made it all the way to the Solitary plains.

Time and time again, Faul came up with excuses to rest, and as they got closer, to turn back altogether. On one occasion, Halt took him aside to reassure him. The whinging didn't diminish after that. If anything, it became more pronounced.

"Why do you want to turn back so much?" Gilan inquired during one of their frequent rest stops. This time, Faul had dug his hooves into the soil and refused to move. They were at the border of Celtica, his home, yet he wanted to turn back.

Faul studied a boulder with an interesting shape and refused to answer.

He was a frustrating companion. His petulence combined with Halt's grimness- Will was thankful that Gilan was around to lighten the mood.

However, as they moved through Celtica, even Gilan left his cheerfulness behind. He had a constant crease between his eyebrows. It deepened whenever they came across strange happenings. Or rather, strange not-happenings. The towns and border posts were all deserted.

Faul had told them this was the case. That didn't stop it from being eery. Will was certain the buildings were craning to get a good look at him. A tomcat darted over the path, his ribs sticking out and his fur in matted clumps. He hissed at them, his lantern eyes almost popping out of his skull. Will couldn't wait to leave the spook infested town.

So he wasn't at all happy when Halt announced that they would spend the night.

"Here? Right now? It's barely dark!" Will protested.

"It'll be dark in an hour," Halt said. "We might as well make the most of the shelter."

"And the stables," Gilan agreed. Blaze shook her mane in satisfaction. He grinned at Will. "Problem?"

The apprentice flushed. "No," he sighed. "No problem." He felt their eyes all on him and he peered up through his lashes. "You don't think...I mean...there could be ghosts?"

Halt snorted. "Will, you're a werewolf, Gil's an elf, we have a centaur with us and I'm a vampire. I don't think we're the right group of people to worry about ghosts."

Will wasn't reassured. "That doesn't mean they won't haunt us," he muttered as they bedded the horses down in the abandoned stable. There were spider webs on the rafters and dust layered the beams. Even so, Faul opted to stay in the stable. He was more at home among the whuffles of horses and preferred their company than the ranger's- he made little attempt to tactfully hide this point.

Inside, there was a stale loaf of bread cut on the table, and mouldy slices of cheese. A jar of pickles, a half eaten roast, a fly on buttery potatos. Will scraped the leftovers outside- that tomcat could have them- while Gilan lit the fireplace, expelling the dampness in the room. Halt rummaged through the pantry for anything edible. He layed out some dry biscuits with a relish, pickled onions, broccolli, carrots, beans, cabbage and sweet potatoes, supplemented with the tough, chewy beef from their supplies. Of course he made them coffee as well.

Halt and Gilan tucked in straight away. Will prodded the broccolli with his fork.

"Are you sure we should be eating this?" he cautioned.

"You're a bit old to be complaining about eating your vegetables, aren't you?" Halt muttered through a mouthful of cabbage.

"It's not that," Will denied. "It's just...don't you think...I mean..."

"You aren't worried about ghosts again are you?" Halt snorted. "You saw the table. These people aren't dead, they just left in a hurry."

"Oh."

"You should have seen that, Will," Halt scolded. "There are no more ghosts here than there are in any other place. You never worry about the ones in Redmont."

"There are ghosts in Redmont?" Will exclaimed.

"Yes," Gilan answered in all seriousness. "They come into the houses at night, holding the weapons that killed them."

Will leaned forward, his eyes wide. "What if they died of an illness?"

Gilan shrugged. "Then they'll reach out for you and brush their cold fingers over your neck until..."

"Until what?" Will breathed.

"Until you come down with the illness that killed them."

"That's awful," Will gasped. He had a prickling feeling at the back of his neck and he swatted at it. How many ghosts came into the cabin at night? Did they watch over him as he slept? What about his parents? Maybe even they hovored over him. But maybe they fended off the other ghosts and that was why he was still alive. Still, his parents might not know he was in Celtica. His breath came faster. "That's a horrible way to die," he said.

"That's a ridiculous way to die," Halt put in. "Honestly Gil, how do you come up with this rubbish?"

Something in Will's chest loosened. It may have been because Gilan was now grinning. He glanced at the elf suspiciously.

"For the record," Halt explained, "ghosts are created by those who grieve."

"You mean they're not real?" Will asked, glaring at Gilan who was grinning more than necessary.

"They exist," Halt shrugged. "That is, they can be felt sometimes, or heard, or seen, which is about as existing as you can get. But they aren't the dead. They come from the grief and thoughts of the living, figments of air and space, if you like. They'll only hurt you if you hurt yourself. On the other hand, the dead are just that- dead. They've moved on to another place, no one knows for sure where, although many speculate."

"I see." Actually, Will was a tad confused. He got the gist of it though. Ghosts weren't coming to kill him in his sleep.

"On that cheery note about ghosts and dead people, who's for bed?" Gilan suggested. "I had first watch last night. Someone elses turn now." He stretched his lanky limbs, standing up and clearing away the plates.

Will scoffed the last of his dinner, finishing just in time to pass his gleaming plate to Gilan.

"You're on first watch, Will," he said. They retreated to the master bedroom. Even though they weren't bothered by ghosts, they were still on a war footing and it was safer to stay in the same room. It was a double bed anyway, so they topped and tailed, with the third person perched on an armchair as he kept watch.

Will refilled his coffee cup- he needed energy to keep watch after all, and settled into the armchair. It wasn't such a great vantage point. He found that the plush cushions lulled him to sleep and he had to stand up and pace around the room. At one stage he stepped on a creaky floorboard. It was disgraceful for a ranger, but the drawn out creak under his own foot made him flinch in surprise.

"That had better be an enemy sneaking up on me and not an apprentice ranger standing on the floorboards," Halt grumbled.

"Sorry Halt," Will said quickly.

"Shut up."

"Right." He clamped his lips shut and stood still. When his eyelids started to droop, he pinched himself and he'd flutter awake again. It was a relief when Gilan took over and he could sink into the mattress, Halt's even breaths beside him a comfort. No ghosts would dare sneak up on Halt, after all.

…...

There was a rope bridge rigged across the fissure. Wargals guarded it, snuffling and pawing the ground. Will bit his lip until it bled, anxious about those shambling, bear like creatures that were the basis of bedtime stories (if you don't go to sleep Will, the wargals with climb out from under your bed and get you) and of several nightmares. He drew back into the bushes, turning to Halt and Gilan for reassurence.

Halt gestured for them to move back. They slithered through the forest to where Faul, a more conspicuous presence, was waiting for them.

"There were only four," Gilan said. "We can deal with that many." His fingers drummed on his longbow but Halt was shaking his head.

"We won't need to. We're going over the fissure, remember? They don't have long distance weapons so they won't be able to stop us."

"You aren't serious!" Will exclaimed. His fellow rangers looked at him as if he was the one who'd taken leave of his senses. "What are we going to do, sprout wings?"

Faul's tail flicked. He shifted uncomfortably, frowning. He too was confused about the plan.

"No," Halt replied evenly. "We'll borrow someone elses wings."

Which raised more questions than it answered. "Well, who's wings?" Will questioned. "Didn't you say we'd meet the corps commandant here?" He looked around, expecting a cloaked ranger to emerge from the trees.

"We will," Halt nodded. "He has further to travel than us. He'll be here soon. Ah," he added. "There he is now."

Will frowned, perplexed. Halt raised a hand- he must have gone mad- and a hawk spiralled down from the canopy. It landed on Halt's fist, careful to avoid scratching him with it's talons.

Ah. So now he was a hawk whisperer? Evidently Halt was a vampire of many talents.

"Halt, is that your pet hawk?" Will asked. He had a deja vu moment from when he'd first been apprenticed to the ranger. There had been a small, brightly feathered bird bopping around then. It occurred to him that the bird's name had been Crowley. Had Halt named it after the corps commandant? Mind you, Halt had never confirmed that it was his bird and Will had never seen it since.

The hawk preened its feathers with a high amount of dignity. It ruffled its wings and fixed a peircing gaze on Will.

"They did this to me too," Gilan said, taking some sympathy for the puzzled boy. "I went two years thinking birds just liked Halt. They even tricked me at the gatherings. I only found out when one of the other rangers let it slip."

"Found out what?" Will asked.

Gilan nodded at the hawk. "All those birds that fly over to Halt are named Crowley," he said. "Not just any old Crowley either. Will, meet our commandant."

Will blinked. "You mean, the head of ranger command is a _bird_?"

"Not exactly," Gilan said, but Will's attention was diverted because the hawk had vanished. Instead, a man leaned on Halt's shoulder, grinning, with sandy red hair and wearing his ranger uniform.

"You're no fun Gil," Crowley complained. He turned his attention to the stunned apprentice. Reaching out a hand in greeting, he said, "you must be Will. Pleased to meet you."

"Yes sir," Will said, hurridly shaking the offered hand. "The pleasure is mine."

"Isn't he polite!" Crowley said. "Obviously, you haven't had enough time to rub off on him, Halt."

"He hasn't had enough time to know how annoying you are," Halt retorted.

"Were you the little bird at the cabin when I became Halt's apprentice?" Will asked. Crowley nodded.

"I get around a lot, under many different disguises," he explained. "I'm a shapeshifter."

"So you can turn into anything you want?" Will asked.

"Sure," Crowley smiled at him. Before he could blink, there was a cat winding around his legs, then a shetland pony nosing his side, then a monarch butterfly, then the sandy haired man was back in front of him.

"Can you carry all of us over the mountains?"

"That's the plan," Crowley said cheerfully. "One at a time though. First Halt, then Faul, then Will, then Gilan, alright?"

They all agreed. Will was glad that at either end of the journey, he'd have a fully qualified ranger with him. He'd never be left alone. He didn't envy Halt, having to wait by himself in the midst of the mountains.

Crowley transformed into a massive eagle. Will had never seen one so big. The tawny feathers, tinged with sandy red, rippled over a large wingspan. With a powerful flap of his wings, he rose into the air, snatching Halt's upheld arms in his talons.

The remaining three watched in trepidation as the senior rangers soared higher and higher. Halt's cloak fluttered in the wind behind him. Will had a perfect head for heights, but even he was nervous about flying. Faul was worse. He paced back and forth, his hooves clopping on the ground.

"He won't be able to lift me," he said. "I'm much heavier than you three. I might as well stay behind."

Gilan shook his head. "We need you to guide us through the mountains."

They munched on biscuits and stale bread as they waited. This was always the worst part- the waiting. The more time that dragged by, the more anxious they got. Will started to worry- what if Crowley had accidently dropped Halt? Or what if Morgarath had heard of their plans and had slaughtered the rangers as they landed?

Gilan kept watch over the sky. He picked apart a leaf to give his fingers something to do as he scanned the clouds. After what seemed like forever, he said that he could see Crowley, and they all watched the eagle's graceful descent. It turned glided above them, heading for Faul. The centaur gathered his legs under him to run and found himself moving backwards. He glanced down and the horror was evident on his features as he realised the canopy was below him.

They heard him whinnying in anxiety. Abelard shifted at the noise- they were leaving the horses behind for they didn't want to get them trapped in the plateu with no easy retreat. In this case, hiding was more imperative than speed anyway. Gilan waved cheerfully at the petrified centaur.

This time, they knew how long it would take for Crowley to fly them over the mountains, so they didn't panic as the minutes ticked by. They led the horses further from the fissure, up to where there was an abundance of fresh green grass and trees to hide in. They gave them instructions to be stealthy and not let anyone detect them.

They made it back to the meeting spot just as Crowley circled above them. Gilan nudged the apprentice, and Will took a deep breath, holding his arms up as he'd seen Halt do. Claws grasped them and he couldn't help a yell of surprise as the ground was whipped away from him.

It wasn't an enjoyable flight. The wind whooshed at his hair, and billowed his cloak. He scrabbled for a handhold on the claws. It felt like he'd slip from the bird's grasp at any moment. Below him, he saw the deep chasm of the fissure, and the top of the forest. That soon disappeared from view as they tilted around. Will gasped, certain that the commandant would drop him as they turned a sharp corner. But they straightened out, soaring over the rise and fall of the mountains. The tallest mountains were above them. Crowley navigated between the peaks. Far to his right, Will thought he could see the fires of a camp. They were avoiding flying directly over Morgarath's domain, he realised.

Crowley soared down a valley. The rocks closed in to a stream, lined by green trees begginning to show an orange splash of autumn. By now, Will was starting to lose some of the tension and relax into the ride. It was uncomfortable, but the views were stunning, and he marvelled to think that he was seeing a perspective of araluen hardly anyone else would ever see.

He spotted Halt and Faul. Crowley dipped down. He seemed to be coming up t the ground at great speed, Will thought. Then nothing was securing his wrists and he tumbled forward, his boots hitting the turf. His knees collapsed and he staggered. Halt caught him. He leaned against his mentor and glanced up to see Crowley spiralling back for Gilan.

Now that he was on the ground, the mountains looked much bigger and he felt much smaller. Somehow, they had to make their way to the centre of Morgarath's kingdom, find a way to destroy the stone, and do it without being detected.

When Gilan joined them, Crowley briefly turned human again. "I'll meet you back at this spot in three weeks, if you haven't already fought your way out," he said. With that, he was a hawk (a reasonably sized one) and he disappeared into the open skies.

"Can he not stay and help?" Will asked as they began to make their way down the valley.

"We won't need his help," Halt said. Faul said nothing, Gilan nodded agreement, and Will wished he had the same confidence.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

The valley was behind them. It had been luscious, with a stream, and green trees, a cut in the mountains where Will could hardly believe he wasn't safe. It was behind them now. They trekked over uneven rocks, dusted in brown and grey. Gorse bushes twisted from the cracks.

Faul seemed oddly at home. He didn't think the knarled trees were pitiful. Perhaps the rest of Celtica was much the same. This was homeland scenery for him.

He set a cracking pace. Faul had the advantage of four legs. He trotted over the rocks and scrambled up the steep sloped like a goat. The rangers puffed behind him. Many times, Halt snapped at the centaur to slow down.

"There's no use in rushing," the vampire declared through his gasping breaths. "We're better off being slow and quiet, rather than storming in like an army."

Will doubted the four of them could ever be mistaken for an army. As he often had since landing in the mountains, he wondered how they could possibly destroy the stone Faul had spoken of. If it really did allow Morgarath mind control over his wargals, it would be heavily guarded.

His anxiety weighed down on him. There wasn't much else to think about. At least in the day, there might be an interesting rock. Once, Gilan pointed at one with a growth of moss and said it looked like Halt's head. He was forced to carry both his and Halt's packs for that. But he flashed a cheerful grin at Will and the apprentice realised the jest was to cheer him up.

It was night that was the worst. The shadows crept around them, like black snakes. He couldn't see if there were wargals lurking, or worse. Something about the darkness heightened his fears, even if it was irrational. Will stuck close to Halt. The vampire embraced the darkness; he raised an eyebrow when his apprentice sidled up to him but he let the boy take comfort from his presence.

They weren't allowed to light a campfire either. Halt wouldn't let them. It was too risky. They slept in the damp, dark cold, and they dreamed of coffee. Will licked his lips. He missed coffee. It seemed a long time ago that he stopped off at Jason Barre's store to buy a supply of coffee beans.

His companions began to notice his worries. Gilan doubled his efforts to keep their spirits high. Halt was as taciturn as ever, but he let Will have seconds of their dwindling food stores on night. Another time, the apprentice lay awake and heard them talking in soft voices.

"This is too hard on him," Gilan was saying. "He's just a boy."

Halt didn't reply for a few moments. "I know that," he admitted. "But he's also a ranger."

"An apprentice," Gilan corrected.

"An apprentice ranger." Halt heaved a deep sigh. "Trust me Gil, and trust yourself. We'll keep him safe."

Will clenched his sleeping roll. "No need to worry about me," he muttered, loud enough for them to hear. He was agitated that they didn't think he was capable of defending himself. True, he was extremely concerned that they'd never make it out of the mountains, but he still didn't want to be treated as a little kid.

"There'll be less reason to worry if you get some sleep," Halt said, cool as ever. If he was pertubed that Will had overheard them talking, he didn't let on. "In fact, I could do with sleep too. Gil, you're on watch."

Will felt his mentor lie down beside him. Faul snuffled and snored somewhere off to his left. Owls hooted. They sounded more sinister than the owls in Araluen. He could hear Halt's soft breathing and was glad of the presence.

"Halt?" There came a grunt in reply. Will hesitated and shrugged to himself. "Thank you. For saying you'd keep me safe. Even if I don't need it." The last part was added with a huff.

"Are you going to sleep or do I have to knock you out?" Halt responded with exasperation.

"Sorry Halt," Will apologised.

"And don't eavesdrop," Halt added.

That wasn't fair, Will thought. _They_ were the ones talking in front of him. Nevertheless, he knew better than to argue with his mentor so he sealed his lips and snuggled deeper in his sleeping roll. Eventually he drifted off. Of course, he was then woken for his watch. That seemed to always be the way when camping.

After another day of walking, he found he just couldn't keep up his fears. They were getting closer to Morgarath with every step, yet his trepidation wore off, and he searched for distractions from the monotony. It was just too boring and unreal to keep worrying.

Gilan kept him entertained some of the time, with trivial games like I-spy.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with G," Gilan said.

Will pursed his lips. "Gap?"

"What?"

"As in, a gap in the rocks."

Gilan laughed. "No."

"Grey?"

"No."

"Gorse?"

"Nope."

Will had been sure that one was right. He frowned, his forehead creased, then his face cleared. "Gilan!"

"Yes?"

"No, Gilan starting with G."

Gilan chuckled again. "Oh, no that's not it. Good guess though."

Well, what could it possibly be then? Will stewed over it. The fire elf sported the hint of a smirk as he waited for the boy to give in. After a few minutes of contemplating, Will did, and the smirk widened.

'Grumpy ranger' Gilan mouthed, gesturing towards Halt with his thumb. Will sniggered and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Halt turned around, suspicious. He peered at them. Gilan slung an arm around the apprentice's shoulders.

"Now Halt, what's that look for? I didn't do anything. Did you do anything, Will?"

"No," Will said, fighting back giggles.

"There. Your suspicion is unfounded," Gilan concluded. Halt's eyebrows dropped low over his eyes.

"I tend to think it's not," he said, glowering at them.

Gilan gawped. "Halt! I've never known you to be wrong before."

Halt ground his teeth together. "Somehow, I think it was a mistake to let you come on this mission," he muttered.

These games carried on. The fire elf taught him riddles, then they tried to remember jokes they'd heard, then they made up stories. But as they neared their destination, Gilan lost some of his carefree, breezy attitude. A mask of seriousness descended on him. He started to check over his arrows in the evenings, and spent one of their half hour breaks running a stone up the side of his sword.

At last, Faul turned to them and said, "in another two hours, we'll be there."

Halt made them stop by an outcrop of rock. He smoothed the dirt with his palm and sketched lines on it with an arrow. "Faul, you know where the stone is?"

Faul nodded. "He keeps it in a box on a podium."

"In plain view?" Gilan asked.

Faul shrugged. He looked a little uncomfortable. "I think it helps his communication with the wargals. Maybe because there are many of them around the stone. They don't like the tunnels and mines."

"Alright. We'll need a distraction," Halt said. "Gilan, do you think you can set Morgarath's castle on fire?"

The matter-of-fact way he asked astounded Will, who thought setting alight a castle could surely be no easy task, let alone _Morgarath's_ castle.

"That would certainly be a distraction," Gilan said. "Sure, I reckon I can do that. Will you get the stone then?"

"Yes," Halt nodded. "Faul and Will can stay back out of sight."

"Fine by me," Faul said, yet he said it in a stiff tone, and his tail flicked in displeasure. Will swallowed. He nodded and resigned himself to watching and learning. Not that he was upset about that at all, it seemed to him a more sensible option than running out to destroy a stone or setting fire to the castle.

They kept going for two hours. It was a long two hours, longer than your general hours, because Will was wound like a spring. A coil inside of him tightened and his chest felt heavy. Halt made a hand gesture and they dropped low to the ground. Faul had difficulty with this and Halt signed for him to remain behind.

However, the centaur wasn't experienced with ranger signals and pressed onwards. Halt had to ghost over to him and whisper, "stay back." Will silently prayed that Faul would indeed keep well back. He didn't fancy being discovered by Morgarath because of the centaur.

The three rangers crawled onto a protruding rock. Will swallowed, thinking of all the times Halt had pointed out he didn't keep his bum close enough to the ground. He was extra careful to press himself flat against the rock, even if he did get scratches from sharp edges. He dared to lift his head enough to see.

Wargals. They shambled around, grunting. Two had a celtican prisoner between them and they beat him. Will sucked in a breath. He snuck a glance at his comrades, but their war-experienced faces were calm. Regretful, perhaps, yet they wouldn't loose their heads over it.

So Will took a deep breath and widened his vision. There was the podium, with a chest on it. Ten wargals were gathered around it. Those were just the ones intent on it, or looking around with their spears raised. There were many more bustling about.

Halt and Gilan exchanged a glance. The elf offered a cocky grin and let just a tiny flame dance over his fingertips. He crawled backwards, dropped below the ridge of the rock, and did a doubled over run around the border of the camp towards the castle.

Will didn't envy him. The black stone had none of the graceful spires of the castles he knew. Perhaps Redmont was not the daintiest, but it had its rustic glow and sunset sceneries. This was a chunk of rock, with jagged sides, and four thick towers jutting out. It was foreboding, and it definitely belonged in the mountains of rain and night.

He was quite content to sit behind the rocks. Halt nudged him and positioned his lips close to the boys ear. His breath tickled as he whispered, "stay here. Cover me if I need it. But don't let them catch you."

"But what if-?"

"_Dont_," Halt insisted. "Swear to it. If the worst comes to the worst, we'll need you free to get word to Crowley."

"Right," Will said with a shaky breath. He didn't like that his mentor was even contemplating the worst, as if it was a serious possibility. Halt touched his fingers to the boy's wrist, just the barest of movements that wouldn't give them away and offered some comfort.

He'd lost sight of Gilan. That was to be expected. It was good because the wargals probably couldn't see him either, but Will still wanted to know where the ranger was- was he near the castle? Had he already run into trouble? If he did get in trouble, would he even call for help? Maybe he wouldn't want to give away that he had friends hiding nearby. What if Gilan had been captured, or killed, and he just didn't make a sound?

With every concern that popped into his head, his shoulders tensed some more. Halt soothed him with a brush of the fingers on his wrist. They waited for what felt like forever. At last, he noticed smoke rising from the windows of the castle. The wargals noticed too. They grunted and turned to peer at it. As one, they rushed to grab buckets and fill them up in the river. Those closest to the stone hesitated. They appeared reluctant to leave, but the orders in their mind overruled any common sense they possessed.

Halt propped up his bow on the rocks. He shot at the few that had hesitated. In the shambling confusion, the other wargals didn't seem to notice as their comrades fell. Maybe they simply didn't care.

Will added in arrows of his own. He got one through the shoulder blade, another wargals stomach, and one perfect shot that dropped the beast down without a sound.

"Enough," Halt said quietly. He climbed swiftly up the rocks and dropped into the open. Without losing a second, he sprinted for the podium. His bow was in his hands, an arrow on the string. Will's heart was in his mouth as he watched. His own bow was propped on the rocks.

He caught a movement out the corner of his eye. Will swore his heart nearly burst with fright, but it was just Faul shifting position.

"Stay still," he muttered. Faul sniffed and stretched his legs, actually daring to stand up. Will's eyes widened in surprise, and no small amount of fear. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "Stay down."

"Taking my hand at the battle," Faul said. "They held me captive for too long."

The wargals were too busy trying to put out the fire to notice him, and thank god for it. Will knew it was only a matter of time until they spotted the centaur. Faul wasn't exactly a subtle figure after all.

"Faul- you can't," Will tried. "Halt told us to not get caught."

"He told _you_ that," Faul argued. He licked his lips, a bead of sweat trailing down his cheek. Then he had leapt over the rocks in one bound and was galloping into the midst of the commotion. The wargals moved out of the way of the hooves. They carried on gathering water, as if they didn't even care that the centaur was amongst them.

A crease appeared between Will's brows. That didn't seem right to him. Surely the wargals weren't that dimwitted? He kept his bow trained on them just in case, waiting for them to realise that there were intruders.

Halt was at the podium now. There were ropes holding the chest and he sawed at them with his knife. Will's jaw shifted from side to side. Come on, he urged, hurry up. The vampire had it free just as Faul reached him. Halt turned and said something- Will couldn't make out what and assumed it was scathing. Faul's lips moved in return and he gripped the box, tugging it from Halt's hands.

Will's rapid breathing eased. They were almost there. He silently ushured them on. Halt turned and gestured for them to get back behind cover. He started to run. Faul was of course faster, but he stuck just behind the ranger, which wasn't what Will had come to expect from him.

Then Faul reached down and smacked the box into the side of Halt's head. Which certainly wasn't what Will expected from him and he took a moment to process what had happened. One moment, Halt was fleeing, the next he was sprawled on the rocks.

"In the rocks!" the centaur yelled. "The archer's hiding behind the rocks!"

Will sucked in a breath. The bright gleams of wargal eyes turned on him. Even if they had orders to smother that fire, they had deeper, ingrained orders to kill enemies. While some of them carried on with their task, others charged at the rocks. Will loosed several arrows in quick succession, picking off the wargals. He had no hope of getting them all, but he hoped to deter them. Indeed, their progress slowed and they approached with more caution.

He swung to get Faul, the culprit Will really wanted to shoot. But the centaur had already lifted Halt's unconscious body and was galloping into the rocks. Will fired an arrow after him. It missed by centimetres.

"Halt!" the apprentice cried. He burned to race after his mentor, yet Halt's words echoed in his head- 'don't let them catch you.' And he'd never be able to catch up with Faul. But he had to! He couldn't leave Halt, who had taken him in and accepted him as a werewolf, in the clutches of Morgarath. Will had heard the tales of Morgarath's legendary hatred for the ranger Halt. A chill clamped around him at all the dastardly things Morgarath might do to Halt.

Will's attention was thrust back to the wargals. He'd pause in firing at them and now they clamboured over the rocks. He stood steady to pick off two more. Then his nerves failed him- it would be foolish to stand around and let them group in on him. He jogged backwards, firing an arrow when they got to close. The constant threat made them hesitate and the distance between them increased.

He spun and darted over the rocks. Please let Halt and Gilan be alright, he prayed. For the time being, he focused on getting himself away. The wargals were reluctant to chase after him in case he shot at them again, and he lost sight of them behind him. Will ducked into a gully and waited, his breath light and fast, heart pounding, skin slicked with sweat.

He heard their footsteps. Their grunts and barks. He closed his eyes. All he could do was wait.

Perhaps fate had a hand in it, or some unfathomable being above, but the wargals didn't spot him. Their footsteps receded. Will pressed his face to his knees, his bow tucked between his belly and his thighs. His hands curled into fists and he punched the ground.

He was hollowed out. Alone and lost. Will didn't know what he, a mere apprentice, could possibly do to help his comrades. Still, he had to try something, anything, because if he didn't there would be an awful lack where a red-eyed, cheekily grinning fire elf and a coffee-addicted vampire should be.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

They'd left all their camping gear a way back from Moragarath's holdings. Will scampered over the rocks for it. He'd made his decision and he knew there wasn't a lot of time to bandy about. Moping about could wait. So after a minute of sitting in the gorge pitying himself, he began to trek up the mountain.

He was aware of the spitting fire behind him. A thick, dark smoke spiralled into the air. The grunts of wargals turned into ear-splitting cries. At one stage, he heard a crash. When he emerged on an outcrop, he saw that the timber frame of the castle had collapsed and the stones tumbled down on top of it.

Will waited in vain to see if a fire elf would emerge from the rubble. The wargals gave up and headed off in the same direction Faul had gone. Strange, Will thought, how they all decided to go the same way.

For half an hour, he couldn't bring himself to leave the rocky outcrop. He felt that doing so would be like giving up on Gilan. Will couldn't believe that anything would have happened to the fire elf. He couldn't believe that a bright life could be extinguished so fast.

He sucked in a trembling : what a deception. It made you think you had a heap of it, then it chucked you out on your own in seconds. And Faul- how could Faul do that to them? They had helped him, _saved _him from the ogres.

Will dragged himself up and kept on walking. It did him good to be moving. He found that it kept him calm. His rythmic heartbeat was soothing, as was the consistant ache in his thighs from a steep uphill climb.

When he reached their packs, he discarded their sleeping rolls save one. He shifted all the food and a change of clothes into one pack. There were spare arrows so he replaced the ones he'd shot, filling his quiver back to its full quota of twenty-four. He shoved in as many arrows as he could fit, just in case he ran out, along with Halt's medical kit that he feared he'd need.

He repositioned his quiver to make room for the pack. Then with a regretful look at the equipment he hadn't managed to fit in which included the coffee pot, he headed back down the slope.

As the land dipped down he lost sight of the smoldering remains of Morgarath's castle. He hoped the dark lord himself had perished in the flames. The violence of the thought shocked him. He'd come a long way since he was the orphaned lad who'd never seen a day of combat and not all of the changes were positive.

Will counted his steps as he tramped. His pack jostled up and down on his back. He was getting blisters on his heels. But he kept counting and he blanked his mind. Stopped thinking about what may or may not have happened to his friends. He was a soldier covering ground one step at a time.

He reached the bottom of the gully. Then he had to keep going, to climb up. The knarled, twisted trees littered the ground as they shed their prickly leaves. The gorse bushes scratched any skin they could find- thankfully he was wearing long pants.

The curve of the rocks was folding over; the top approaching. He'd be able to see Morgarath's castle soon. Will jogged the last part. He could almost persuade himself that Gilan would be there waiting for him.

No such luck. The plateu was in fact empty. Even the wargals had gone. Will let out a breath. All that was left was a crumbled, ruined castle. He skidded down the slope. It was safe enough, he figured. The wargals probably wouldn't return anytime soon. Unless they wanted equipment down in the mines that Faul had mentioned. If there were mines- it seemed Faul had not been anywhere close to honest with them.

Will jogged over the plateu. The dead bodies of the wargals embedded with arrows retold the story of the battle. There was the podium, but the stone had been removed. Will gave it a solid kick as he passed. It made him feel a fraction better.

He disregarded any silence he might have taken up. What did it matter? There didn't seem to be anyone around to hear. "Gilan?" he called. "Gil?" There was no answer. He made his way to the ruined castle. With the support pillars burnt to ash, there was nothing much left for the fire to build on. Some flames flickered over the stone; most of them died.

Will kept calling his friend's name. He stamped out a flame that had found a scrap of grass. The thick stones were crumbled and blackened. He turned them over, shoving them aside. "Gilan? Gilan?"

The mess of a flattened wargal hand was uncovered under a stone. Will staggered back, revolted. He was assaulted with vivid images of Gilan being in the same situation as that wargal. His boots clipped the stones as he frantically searched.

He paused, aware of a vague noise. "Gilan?" he asked, much like a hound with his nose in the air, sniffing, searching. The ragged groan came again, this time accompanied by a slurred name. Will rushed to the source of the sound.

The stones had fallen in such a way that they were like a tent, braced against each other with a triangle opening. Will saw this after clearing some of the rubble. He coughed, eyes watering from the dust. Gilan was lying between the two stones, very much intact although his skin was red and swollen.

"Gilan!" Will gasped. The fire elf blinked hazily at him. "Come on out. It's safe. All the wargals have moved on."

Gilan groaned. "Can't," he murmured. "My foot's stuck." His eyebrows were knotted with pain. Will bit his lip. He hated seeing his friend vulnerable.

"I'll try move the stones," he said. He dropped his quiver and his backpack onto the ground. Then he moved around to where the neat, tent like shape had caved in. He dug through the smaller fragments of stone.

"What happened?" Gilan asked. "Did we get the stone? Where's Halt?"

"Faul's a traitor," Will explained. The bitterness in his voice surprised was a large chunk of stone and he braced against it to move it. Gilan howled and he jerked away as if he'd been stung. "Gil?"

The fire elf was breathing raggidly. A whimper escaped his lips. He managed to compose himself enough to croak, "get the stone off."

Will pressed his palms against it. He didn't apply any pressure. "But Gilan," he began and was cut off.

"Just do it," Gilan muttered. "Don't mind me."

The apprentice set his teeth together. He closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the screams as he heaved the stone with all of his might. When it was clear, he dared to open his eyes and look down at the mangled foot. It was a mess of blood and bones. A sick feeling rose in him.

Gilan gasped and groaned. "Help me up," he whispered. He wiggled his arms free of the stones. Will gripped the burnt, scarred skin and dragged the ranger clear. It was awful- Gilan couldn't hold back his yelps as his ruined foot was jostled.

Will propped him up against the stones. The elf licked his cracked lips, so Will gently trickled some water from his canteen into Gilan's mouth. The ranger eagerly lapped it up. He then spat on his hands and the burnt skin smoothed into pink. He spat again and rubbed his saliva up his trembling arms and legs. Will hovered over him, hands waving helplessly.

At least, free from his burns, the ranger looked in better condition. Yet the foot still lay limp and unresponsive. There wasn't much in the basic first aid kit that could help. Will gave him some elfgreen leaves to chew to dull the pain.

"I couldn't get out," Gilan gasped. "There were wargals everywhere. I figured I'd rather take my chances in the collapsing castle than be discovered. Morgarath hates rangers, you know. He'd do all sorts of terrible things to us if he caught us." His eyes were bright. Too bright. Feverish.

Will didn't know what to do about the foot. He moved it to an elevated position on a rock and bound it in pristine bandages. The white cloth quickly turned red. Gilan's eyelashes fluttered.

"Where's Halt?"

Will swallowed. "He- Faul took him. Gilan, Faul's a traitor. He's in league with Morgarath."

"Ah," Gilan sighed. "A traitor." He shifted restlessly against the rock. "You say he's got Halt? We have to go after him." But of course the ranger couldn't walk on his foot and he sank back against the stones.

"Morgarath could have died in the fire," Will said desperately.

"I don't think so." Gilan shook his head, grimancing. "I don't think he was even in the castle. It must've been a set up."

"A set up?"

"Yes. I think Faul led us here to get Halt captured." Gilan peered at his bandaged foot and moaned softly.

"Why would he do that?" Will asked.

"Faul? I don't know. But Morgarath- he has a grudge against Halt. He'll want his number one enemy out of the way if he's planning another war."

"A war?" Will shuddered. "Are we going to go to war against Morgarath."

"No doubt. We want to. We want to finish him once and for all. No more living in fear of these mountains." Gilan rubbed his face. "We've got to move. In case the wargals come back for their mines."

Will supported his friend and helped him to stand. Gilan leaned heavily on him. He had to hop on one foot, with Wll holding him upright. They hobbled over to the ridge, struggled up it and down the other side. Gilan collapsed against him and Will lowered him to the ground. The ranger sank against the rocks.

"This'll have to be far enough for now," Gilan said. "Can you fetch my bow and arrows from the rubble?"

Will nodded. He hurried back over, unreasonably anxious that the wargals would suddenly show up. He dug out the bow that was remarkably intact, and the quiver of arrows. He returned them to Gilan.

"Thanks," the ranger grunted. Will brought out a snack of stale bread and cheese for them to eat. Gilan said he wasn't hungry, so the apprentice munched on his own.

"We'll have to get word to Crowley," Gilan murmured. "Too bad I can't speak to birds. We'll just have to hope we're interesting enough to report to Crowley. They'll tell him about the castle no doubt, but he might assume that we're fine."

"Halt," Will said glumly. "He might not have time to wait for Crowley to send help."

Gilan stared morosely at a gorse bush. "I suppose we could pretend to be cows or some other such strange thing to get the attention of the birds." He reached over and gripped the boy's shoulder. "But you're right. Halt might not have time for that."

The intensity in the red eyes went against everything Will knew about the elf so far. There was no joking there. Just a splash of fear, and a core of steel.

"I'll go," Will said. 

"No," Gilan shook his head. "I won't allow it. Halt wouldn't want you to."

Will glanced down at his hands. "I know that." He took a deep breath. "I'm going anyway. Please, Gilan. My place is with Halt. He's my mentor."

Gilan shook his head again. He was evidently troubled. Will met his eyes.

"I know you think I'm just a boy. Because I am. But I'm also a- a ranger's apprentice and I can't sit around and leave Halt in the clutches of Lord Morgarath." Will nodded to himself. "I'm sorry Gil. You can't walk, I'll have to leave you here."

"Now hold on," Gilan began, but the apprentice was already unpacking some food for him and spreading the sleeping roll over him.

"You should be fine," Will fussed, though he was trying to persuade himself more than the ranger in front of him. He felt terrible for abandoning the injured ranger. "Just make sure you eat and drink a lot of water. Keep warm."

Gilan caught his fluttering hands. "Slow down," the fire elf said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I've got my bow to defend myself and that's all I need. You take the sleeping roll."

"But-"

"I won't let you go if you don't take it," Gilan said. Will choked back his argument. He registered that the fire elf was agreeing to let him leave after Halt.

"Thanks Gil," the apprentice said. "I'll be back soon with Halt." He rerolled the sleeping bag.

"Fine," Gilan sighed, resigning himself to nights of fretting. "Help me over the rocks into the gully. I want to be further from the camp. That was I can light a fire to keep me warm at night, alright?"

Will agreed. He hooked an arm around the ranger and they stumbled over the uneven terrain. Every second gave Morgarath, if indeed he was still alive (and Gilan seemed to think he was) more time to do god alone knows what to Halt. Yet Will could never forgive himself if Gilan was harmed while he was away. While they could never be properly safe in the mountains of rain and night, he would do the best he could to hide Gilan.

When they settled on a spot, the elf sank to the ground, exhausted. He stretched his leg out in front of him, wincing at the sight of his foot. It must have been extrodinarily painful. Will laid out elfgreen leaves, food and water.

"That's enough," Gilan mumbled. "Keep the rest for yourself." Even so, Will checked his temperature. It was high and there wasn't much he could do about it. He tore off a strip from his cloak, soaked it in water and laid it on Gilan's forehead. Then he gathered firewood, snapping off dry branches from the prickly, scrubby trees and put it close to hand. That way, the elf would find it easy to keep fires burning without scalding his skin.

"You stay safe, you hear?" Gilan said. "Promise me."

Will laid a hand over his heart. "I promise I'll stay safe. I'll keep Halt safe too. You stay alive and we'll be back in no time at all."

They clasped hands. Gilan pulled him in for a brief, one armed embrace. "Good luck," he murmured. Will nodded and responded with, "you too."

Then the apprentice took off after the wargals, well aware that he'd lost a lot of ground and relying on his tracking ability to find them.

…..

Thrumming, pulsing, like an arrow being released straight through his head, over and over. However, this was no arrow and Halt was well aware of that. Of course he was. He'd been concussed many times before; it came with the job. He knew that he'd been hit over the head. In fact, he knew it before he remembered exactly what had happened.

The stone came back to him. At first the memories were jumbled and confused. He recalled that Faul had disobeyed his orders and come after him. That was when he pieced together what must have happened. Halt's next concern was Will. He hoped the boy was out of trouble and faring well. Gilan would be looking after him, he figured.

He mumbled a cuss word under his breath and called Faul some unpleasant names. Halt leaned against a damp wall. He waited for his head to stop spinning. It was a dungeon; damp, musky, with straw that smelt of urine and vomit and cobwebs in the corners. Halt shifted and realised he was shackled to the wall. What overkill. It was almost barbaric. He didn't know what they expected him to do if he wasn't chained- he could hardly bend the iron bars of the door with his bare hands.

They'd left him alone too. There were no other prisoners in his cell. He couldn't hear any outside of his cell either. It was eerily silent, apart from the coughs and grunts of the wargals guarding him.

"Any chance of a meal?" he asked dryly. A pair of yellow eyes gleamed at him then turned away. "Didn't think so."

A while later, studded metal boots rang on the floor. They were the sort of shoes pompous nobles like to wear, the kind that announced their presence and had an impressive ching on stone floors. Halt glared, noting the swish of black robes. The pale, claw-like hands were clasped behind his back, and sunken black eyes studied the ranger.

"Halt," Morgarath sneered. His skin had a sicklier pallor than Halt remembered, and his hair was dead white, but there was no mistaking his whiny, self-important voice. "What a delight."

Halt glowered. He was in no mood for shallow, thinly veiled threats. Something about being chained to a wall put him in a fould mood. He had nothing much to say to his enemy, so he remained quiet.

Morgarath started to laugh. His madness hadn't receded over the years. If anything, it had grown until it consumed him, body and soul. His whooping laughter turned into shreiks. Halt stiffened. Not so much because of Morgarath's behaviour, but he heard hoofbeats. Sure enough, Faul appeared on the other side of the bars.

"I didn't think it'd be so easy," Faul scoffed. Halt's eyes narrowed. He could only guess what their plan had been but it seemed loose to him. Having a centaur wander around until the birds reported it to Crowley, and hope the commandant sent a ranger out to intercept him. Yet it had worked.

"Oh Halt," Morgarath howled with delusional laughter. "We were going to bait you with one of your colleagues. We didn't think you yourself would turn up. I'm not prepared." He grinned, his thin lips cracking his face like the fissure broke the mountains. "Don't worry though. We'll prepare something creative for you."

"I tremble in anticipation," Halt muttered.

Morgarath only smiled."We'll see how sarcastic you are when you've have all your limbs dislocated, your fingers cut off one by one, your back whipped until there's no skin left."

"Thought you said you were going to be creative. I've heard all those before," Halt scowled.

"Well?" Faul asked, steering the conversation away from torture. "My lord, have I done my duty well enough?"

Morgarath's top lips curled. "I did not count on my mining base being burnt down," he pointed out.

Faul flushed. "I wasn't expecting three rangers," he confessed. Halt gritted his teeth, tensing up.

"Three?" Morgarath's dark eyes gleamed. "There are three of them?"

Faul shrugged uncomfortably. "Well I only caught this one. The other two disappeared. But my lord, one is only a boy."

"A boy?! Three?! Do you take me for a fool, centaur?!" Morgarath screamed. "I cannot have two rangers lurking around my kingdom." He spun on Halt. "Where are they?"

Halt sealed his lips and refused to utter a word. Morgarath threw up his hands.

"Centaur- I want those other two caught!" he demanded. "I want their skin peeled off and their eyes gauged out. Then you can give them to Halt here. Let's see if he squirms."

Faul shifted, grimancing at the unpleasantry. "Then," he prompted, "when I have done that, will you promote me to king of the celtican centaurs?"

Morgarath snarled at him. "Don't push your luck centaur."

Faul bristled. "We made an agreement, my lord."

"Find the other two," Morgarath spat at him. He strode purposefully out of the dungeons. Faul sighed and clopped after him. Halt was left alone in the dark to worry about his young friends.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**I'm late at updating and I'm blaming it on...my laziness. Well I had to do some work for school, and then I went to a birthday party, so I thought I'd do it monday, but then there was so much schoolwork to get done before the holidays- 'cause I've got a two week holiday next week whoop whoop. **

Hawks loved the open skies, just as fish loved the sea, and Crowley found that while he was in hawk form he delighted in the wind currents rippling under his wings. Of course, when he was a clown fish he loved the coral reefs, when he was a dolphin his favourite thing in the world was the ocean far from land.

Yet there was something enticing about being a bird, a thrill that he didn't get from other species. Up above the world, he was untouchable, or so it seemed. The scenery curved beneath him; it stuck in his mind's eye even after he transformed back to human. Perhaps that was it- he lost his love of the reefs or the sea when he lost his animal form, but never the sky. No, both human Crowley and bird Crowley loved the sky.

Morgarath's plateu had long since vanished from his view. Now, he was gliding over the grassy farmlands. Ahead, he saw the rustic glow of castle Redmont. The hawk part of him wanted to keep on flying, without a care for pretty scenery: in a few more hours he would reach a field that the hawk knew had an abundance of scampering little mice.

Crowley had been born a shapeshifter (what a trial that had been for his poor parents!) and he'd had many years of suppressing his animal urges. He knew not to fight them, or try to persuade the hawk as he had done as a boy, for the hawk was not a seperate being from him. He and the hawk were one and the same, even if the odd desires were dominant and surprising, he had to accept them as what he wanted to do and simply have the discipline to not do it.

He used to blame his behaviour on the hawk, particularly when he killed his sister's pet mouse. However, he was the one in control of how he dipped the wings and turned. He controlled when he dived. Once he accepted this responsibility, he found it easier to dismiss the hawk's wishes.

When he transformed back, he could never recall exactly how to fly. That was a natural instinct he lost if he wasn't in bird form. As a hawk, he knew the precise angled to dip his left wing, so that he circled over the castle. He took the time to appreciate the view, then allowed himself to glide down.

It would be dark soon, so he figured he might as well stay the night in also had another motive. It was one that he second guessed himself over. Crowley wasn't convinced it was the right thing to do, but he was rapidly tiring of sitting back and watching. Halt was dense and stubborn after all, and he'd never get anywhere without a push in the right direction. Whatever the grim ranger claimed he thought, Crowley wasn't dimwitted and he certainly wasn't an idiot. He could see exactly what was going on between his best friend and Pauline.

The hawk spiralled around the fief, dropping lower as he searched for a safe spot with no one about. There was an abandoned street, more of an alley, so he swooped down. Just before he hit the ground, he switched back into a human. He landed neatly, with just a slight bend of his knees. Within seconds, there was no trace of him ever being anything aside from a ranger.

Crowley brushed his hands together. He'd practised that landing many, many times and now he was a rather chuffed master of it. The unfortunate thing was that he never changed in public, unless he was only with other magical creatures, so very few people ever got to see how _cool_ he looked. Alas, when he performed the landing at the gathering, his fellow rangers were usually unimpressed. Sometimes the apprentices gazed at him with wide eyed admiration, but the more senior rager would tell them about Crowley's younger days when he tried the same trick and ended up with a sprained ankle, or staggering like a fool to regain his balance while he still flapped his arms, or one unfortunate occasion when he ended up in a river, and the apprentices guffowed.

So his landing trick rarely paid off. Crowley dusted himself off and glanced around. The alleyway was empty except for one shop, which had a crude sign saying "Jason Barre's coffee." That was a familiar name. He recalled that Halt got his excellent tasting coffee beans here. Strange that it was in such a dark, dodgy looking street. Barre probably acquired the coffee illegally.

Crowley sauntered out of the alley and up the streets towards the castle. He took a wrong turn on the way and ended up having to trace his footsteps to take another route. The castle itsself was familiar to him; not so much the streets in the town as he hadn't spent as much time there. But once he was on the main street, he found he recognised the buildings and had no problem finding his way.

First, he had to report to the baron. Arald was in his study. At first he thought the ranger was Halt, then Crowley tossed back the hood to reveal his sandy hair. Arald was evidently surprised to have the Corps Commandant asking to stay the night as Crowley didn't stop by for overnight visits often, if at all. But he always had guest rooms available so he passed over the key.

Crowley thanked him. He didn't bother dropping by the rooms until he was ready to sleep as he had no bags to dump there. The lack of luggage was the sole thing he didn't like about travelling as a bird. The only way he could carry his spare clothes would be to transform into the giant eagle that had carried the rangers into the mountains. However, that was far from subtle; fine perhaps for a brief manuovre without anyone around but it would generate a heap of curiosity and probably fear if people saw him.

So he went straight to Pauline's quarters. Mindful of the baron's mistake, he kept his hood rapped on the door. An unreasonable nervousness rattled him and he coughed lightly, shuffled his feet and fidgeted as he waited for her to open the door.

She had her hair uncoiled, with parts still pinned up in an elaborate bun, and parts wisping over her shoulders to her waist. She must've been undoing it for the evening, settling down without any more appointments. Pauline fiddled with a strand of hair- face blank as ever yet this gave away that she knew she wasn't presentable for guests. However, Crowley didn't think her anything but radient.

"Hello," he said, offering a vaguelly uncertain smile.

"Good evening," she said smoothly, formally. For a moment his heart sunk, then she smiled and beckoned him in. "It's good to see you again Crowley." She let him kiss her cheek. "Unless it's bad news?" He saw the worry in her eyes.

"No, nothing bad," he replied. He picked out a comfortable looking chair to sit in, wiggling to get comfortable. "Say, Pauline, has Halt asked you to be his girl yet?" It slipped out. Tact wasn't a talent of an impulsive man like him.

She eyed him coolly. Didn't answer. She fixed him with the same eyes that made even the baron back down. He took that as a no.

"Look, Halt really does think the world of you," Crowley continued.

"Would you like a coffee?"

"Pauline," he whined. She was already moving to the pot, placing it over the warm hearth. She opened a cabinet and set two mugs on the bench. A sigh escaped her lips.

"I asked him to dinner," she admitted. Crowley encouraged her with an 'aha', pressing her to continue. She began to measure out the ground coffee beans, scooping them with more force than was necessary. "He turned me down."

"Did he?" Honestly, Crowley thought, Halt could be really stupid.

"He said he was busy," Pauline said evenly.

"Well," Crowley said with a touch of sympathy, "he _is_ on a mission for me."

"It was before the mission." There was a fleck of steel in her voice. She poured in the hot water and stirred, added a dash of milk then passed him the cup. He was stuck for what to say. At last, he opted for bluntness.

"Maybe it's guilt."

Pauline glanced over at him. She arched an eyebrow as she sipped at her coffee. "Do explain."

"Listen." Crowley put his mug on the coffee table- for once he couldn't care less about it- and rested his elbows on his knees. "You've heard the rumours about the ranger corps. That we're all magical."

The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. She might have said something in jest if she hadn't noted his serious expression. "I've heard them."

"Do you believe them?"

She took another sip of her coffee. Somehow, she managed to make this look graceful. "Where is this going?"

Crowley sat back, studying her. "They're true. We are all magical. But Halt's a bit different. He's what some people call a 'dark' creature. To be exact, he's a vampire."

Pauline was in no mood for jokes. Her face was closed off, completely unamused. She shook her head.

"I'm serious," Crowley said. He wished she would meet his eyes and see there wasn't a trace of humour there. "He's been drinking your blood. That's why he feels guilty. He feels he doesn't deserve your love."

She stiffened. "Who said anything about love?"

Crowley released a breathy laugh. "But you do, don't you."

She slammed her coffee cup down on the table. Her eyes glittered, an unusual display of emotion. In fact, he was sure she was going to throw him out.

"Just think about it. How you feel about him and about him being a vampire." Crowley stood up. "Stay awake the night he comes back- he'll want your blood, he won't be able to resist, I guarrantee it."

"This is not an amusing joke Crowley," she said, a warning note to her voice.

"It's not supposed to be," he replied. He nodded towards the full mug of coffee that he hadn't bothered to drink. "Thanks for the coffee."

Then just for good measure, he transformed into a swallow right in front of her. He noticed the way her eyes widened and how she sucked in a breath. Believe it Pauline, he thought; switched back and left her alone with her thoughts.

...

It was easy enough to follow the tracks of the wargals. They'd made no effort to disguise themselves. Yet Will worried it was too obvious, another trap perhaps that Faul had set up. If that was the case, it would work well- he had to follow the footprints if he was going to have a chance of finding Halt, trap or no trap.

As he jogged- got tired and walked awhile, shook himself, jogged again, on and on- he began to relax just a fraction. Nothing had jumped out at him, there was no sign that this was anything other than a normal trail. Except that they were wargals, which couldn't really be _normal_, but that was beside the point.

He was in the middle of nowhere, or so it seemed, when night descended. Will couldn't follow the tracks in the dark, so he resigned himself to keep moving at first light. He didn't dare light a fire. It was the worst camp he'd ever suffered through. He curled up shivering, hunkered down at the base of a boulder. The frigid air clouded with each breath. From time to time, he would drift off. Then he'd detect a noise- an owl or a slight rustling of the bushes as a stoat hunted- and bolt awake, afraid that it was a wargal was standing over him.

At last, his weary mind gave in and allowed him a block of solid sleep. The next time he woke, he blinked at the lightening sky. Will stretched and yawned, a soft groan escaping his lips as he rubbed his stiff lower back. He hadn't chosen the most practical position to lie in; had been half sitting really, and he paid for it now.

He figured there was no use in wasting time, so he gulped down a mouthful of water and three dry biscuits. As he began to walk again, his muscles loosened and he found they were less painful- or perhaps he became accustomed to the slight twinge of discomfort until he didn't notice it anymore.

Will heard their chanting before he saw them. Insinctively, he quickened his pace to catch up. Then he realised that this was a stupid thing to do. It would only get him caught and he'd obviously gained ground on them with his normal pace anyway. After a moment of contemplation, he elected to slip off the path. If could be called a path, that is; it was a line cleared of trees and jutting rocks, smoothed by the pounding of wargal feet yet still it was narrow and twisted.

The chanting became louder and louder. His nerves heightened, he found that he was unusually clumsy on the rocks. They were slippery under his sweaty palms. The mountain had a steep decline but first Will had to climb up a ridge. He peered over the top and spotted the furry head of a wargal disappearing down the slope. His breath caught in his throat. The unreasonable urge to duck behind the rocks almost overruled his common sense. Not quite; he hadn't spent a year of training to disregard everything he'd learnt.

He did a double take as he widened his vision. Off to the horizen, down the slope and in a valley, there was a castle. It was built of black stone, like the one by the fissure, only this one was bigger. It had a certain elegance in its spiral towers, yet it was missing the etheral beauty of Castle Araluen's mosaic windows. It even had a moat where a river ran through the valley, and a few scattered fruit trees. A splash of green grass around the river, bright orange fires were lit in a town at the base of a castle, then the fringes were lapped back up by the dull greys of the mountains.

Will sucked in a breath. The houses were shabbily built, rough stone work in rectangles. They weren't homely at all. Probably shelter for the wargals and judging by the amount of them, Will assumed each house would be packed with the beasts. He also noted more than one centaur galloping over the rocks. One female in particular caught his eye because of her blazing red hair that streamed out behind her.

He decided he didn't like centaurs. At all. Now that he thought about it, Faul had been awfully at home trekking over the rocks, not bothered at all by the lack of green. As for Will, he'd be delighted to find a nice forest. For now, it was not to be.

He plucked the courage to scurry down the slope, after he'd waited a few minutes to give the wargals a head start. And he didn't take the path. He went for the most difficult route he could find because there was less chance a centaur or a wargal would spot him. This was a vertical drop between two faces. He placed a hand on each face, bracing himself taunt to prevent a fall, and wiggled down.

His knees bent to take the impact as he dropped the last metre and a half. Almost as soon as he hit the ground, he heard hoofbeats. Will pressed himself to the cliff, barely daring to breath. Two centaurs galloped past him and he just picked up on a hint of their conversation, "I can't believe the mining base castle has..." That was all he heard. He could fill in the gaps. The castle Gilan had burnt down must have been the mining base. He wondered what had happened to the celtican prisoners that had been mining there. Hopefully, they had all been safe in the tunnels.

Will was shaking just a little, not that he would ever admit that. No one expected him by this part of the cliffs because he'd taken such a difficult path down, yet he couldn't shake the terror that a wargal would suddenly poke its head around the gap. He breathed deeply and pulled his cloak further over his shoulders.

He had to cross the open ground to get to the castle. Without being seen. Will bit his lip, fading into the shadows- he'd never faced a silent movement challenge as difficult as this one and he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the safety of the cliff. He had to though. Halt was probably in that castle, and once he got to him, Halt would know what to do. Of course, Morgarath might well be in that castle as well. Will chewed right through his lip and the blood pooled in his mouth.

**A shorter chappie sorry. Hm, I had fun writing that bit with Crowley but I found the Will bit boring and tedious...and if I found it boring to write, you probably found it boring to read. But I'll try get some action in there soon!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**I feel like I'm the only one in the fandom that isn't excited (comparatively excited, I'll still be buying it the second it comes into stores) about book 12. Am I? I mean, from what I've read of the blurb and stuff I'm guessing Halt's dead and Will has a female apprentice who happens to be Horace and Cassie's daughter. That's my prediction. And I don't like the sound of it at all... no offence to anyone but fanfiction has ruined any appeal a female ranger might have for me- I think it was the day I found out what a mary sue was. I just don't think I'm going to fall for her like I did the other characters. And let me be brutally honest here, I love the books as much as anyone, but John Flanagan doesn't exactly _avoid_ Mary Sues and Gary Stus- I'm not saying that in a critical way though! But I'm willing to be proved wrong here. Maybe she'll win me over! I used to dislike Cassie after all, and Alyss for that matter, but they've both wormed their way into my heart, Cassie a little more so.**

**Did anyone else see the title 'Royal Ranger' and deperately hope it was about when Halt first became a ranger? Or was that just me being stupid... my heart started beating really fast but I read the blurb and I felt let down. **

**Sorry to offload all this on you. **

**On another note, sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I got a bit stuck, but I know how everything is going to happen now. And thanks so much for all the favourites/follows.**

If it hadn't been for Halt, Will might have slunk around for days before he gathered his wits and crossed the open ground. Of course, Halt had no clue of his influence in the matter, as he was trussed up in Morgarath's castle while the black lord did god alone knows what to him. That was the trigger for Will. The anxiety that his mentor could be on the painful end of hot iron or a whip or- he recalled the gruesome stories one of the older orphans had told them one evening- having his skin peeled.

There was no time to hide in the shadow of the cliff. It was a situation unlike any he'd ever been in and yet the feeling was familiar. It was the same as when he'd climbed a tree at five years of age. The memory was vague and he couldn't recall what he was doing up the tree, although he imagined his small frame had been stretched trying to reach the branches. Maria told him he had reached the very top and that Horace had been below, daring him to jump and accusing him of cowardice. Will didn't remember the last part.

He remembered jumping though. And before the jump, he remembered that unreal hesitation when he had to push back his doubts and make his limbs go ahead and _do it. _For a second his mind and body had split, as if they were a part of two seperate entities, and his body was a bold chap while his mind was the bespectacled friend watching and disapproving and trying to explain all the logical reasons why he shouldn't. It was the same now. There were fifty reasons why he shouldn't and they were all dismissed under the feeling that he definitly should. And he did; he left the safety of the cliff, dropped low to the ground, and crept over the open space.

His belly was flat against the soil; it was his fingers and toes that propelled him along. Will wasn't the best at snake-crawling, as Halt called it. He still hadn't perfected the art. Out here, in the mountains of rain and night, he _needed_ to have it perfected. 'I'm just an apprentice' wasn't an excuse, because apprentice or not if he couldn't get up to the castle undetected, Halt might pay for it. Gilan too. Will felt sick to his stomach to think of Gilan sitting alone in the middle of nowhere, with a foot that he couldn't walk on, and expecting his companions to return for him. What if they were caught? What if poor Gil waited and no one ever came back for him?

Will pushed the worries away. They'd be alright. They had to be. Besides, Crowley would be meeting them in a week or so, which would have been a comfort if not for the imposed problem that Halt might not have a week, and that Gilan's foot needed proper medical attention now.

The main issue with slithering over the ground was that Will didn't dare lift his head. At first, he made steady progress, and even managed to keep his backside down so that it didn't stick up. But then he realised he wasn't sure how far he had crawled and how long there was until the cluster of houses. He couldn't pinpoint where he was and that made him feel vulnerable. Will paused, his face pressed against the soil. He listened to the hoofbeats of the centaurs, and the chanting of the wargals.

They didn't seem to be too close to him. He inched his face off the ground, just enough to see the bottom of the houses some fifty metres away. It was hard to keep moving now that he'd stopped, because he was almost certain, for no definable reason, that if he moved the centaurs would spot him. But he had to, so he continued his slow crawl over to the houses.

His bow was tucked under his cloak, the recurve shape making it uncomfortable along the line of his back. He'd unstrung it to avoid it snagging on anything, just in case, and this heightened his vulnerablility. His knives were twisted around on his back too, another precaution that Halt had taught him to avoid them scraping the rock. Will prayed it would ensure no one saw him, because if it did, he was defenceless.

When he reached the shadow of the houses, he had to supress a shudder of relief. He rose to a crouch and readjusted his scabbard. Will didn't take the risk of restringing his bow. He wanted to find a safer place first, even though it was digging into his shoulderblades. He slipped around the wall of the house.

They were rough stone and rectangle. Houses; not homes. They were closely packed too, which was useful as Will could slide from shadow to shadow. He picked his way from house to house, creeping down the narrow streets towards the castle. The place was swarming with wargals. His fear had drained him after that first effort and now it fizzled in the back of his mind. He calculated every move, his senses heightened, so that when a wargal brushed past him, he bit his lip and froze then carried on- it was only as he sank into a deeper shadow around the corner of the house that his hands started to tremble and his face paled. The terror chased him and caught up to him when he stopped moving.

Will could hardly believe no one had seen him. He knew the lesson, trusted the cloak, still he felt that at any moment the wargals would attack him. The street he was following emerged onto a main street, where a column of wargals were leaving with a mining party. He backtracked, deciding he wouldn't take his luck with that many.

One of the celticans cried out. That caught Will's attention and he froze in place, just as a body came hurling past him. The footsteps of a wargal stomped after it. Helpless, Will was frozen in the shadows as the celtican- an old man who had the pallor of a sheet and a trail of drool trickling from his mouth- crashed to the ground.

Another celtican was at the entrance to the street. He was frail man, not much younger than the other, and he battled against the wargal holding him back, his eyes wide and fearful. "You're going to kill him too?" he croaked. "Just because he's too weak, too much a liability in the mines?"

That seemed to be what the wargal planned to do. It gripped the old celticans collar and punched him. Its saliva made its fangs gleam horrifically as it grinned. This wasn't a beast of quick mercies. It would beat the old man to death.

If Will interfered, he'd give himself away. He had to help Halt. He didn't know the celtican. If he saved him, he'd be caught, as there was no way the trail of wargals wouldn't hear him and he couldn't fight all of them. They might kill Will, or capture him, and in turn he wouldn't be able to save Halt. He could wait for the trail to pass, but the wargal would have killed the celtican by then. He had seconds to choose. Help the celtican whom he didn't know and be unable to help Halt, or walk away in cold blood.

Halt's words came to his mind, when he had spoken about creatures of the 'dark' and 'light' and how they were misguided terms; and later about good and evil. Will knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he ignored the celtican. It had never really been a question. It would have made him worse than a werewolf, worse than any 'dark' creature, and he realised what Halt had been trying to tell him all those months ago, in what seemed to be another life- there were no evil creatures, only evil acts, and anyone could partake in an evil act. He had to try.

All of this buzzed through his head in seconds, just after the wargal landed the first punch on the frail old man. Another wargal came out of a nearby house, attracted by the commotion, and blocking off Will's only escape route. Not that he would have been able to drag the old man to safety with the wargals behind him anyway. The nearest house to him was empty and he darted into it with a burst of speed, trusting that the wargals were all distracted.

Will stripped off his cloak and stuffed it under a bed. If he was going to be caught, he sure wasn't going to let them know he was a ranger. He couldn't help Halt if they ended up in the same place. Anyway, if they didn't know, they wouldn't watch him as carefully. He didn't have time to string his bow, so he left it under the bed as well. He hoped they wouldn't look under there.

He slipped out of the house. Will moved a few paces down the wall. They hadn't seen him, which was good, for if they hadn't seen him emerge from the house they might not search it and find his things. Will drew his knives and, before he could change his mind, propelled himself at the wargal and drove them into its side.

The wargal grunted and frothed at the mouth. Will didn't have the time or space of mind to be revolted. He pulled out the knives, confronted the snapping jaws, and with a deft flick of his wrist, he beheaded it.

He'd always thought that being on his own in a battle like this would be exhilirating. At the least, he thought he would have been proud to have defeated a wargal. But he was weary and the blood pooling at his boots just made him want to vomit. He didn't even have time for that. The other wargal let off a series of grunts and charged at him. Will brought his knives up in defence. Behind him, he heard the footsteps of other wargals summoned by the grunts. He risked a glance over his shoulder- eight of them, all armed with brutal maces.

A short spear hung from the belt of the wargal Will had killed. He was lucky the wargal had been cocky enough not to draw it against the celtican, and that Will's attack had been too quick for it. He glanced at the celtican. The old man had propped himself against a building, but his breathing was shallow and his wrinkled hand was shaking violently as he touched his broken nose.

Will knew this could not possibly end well. The wargal that had come from the house was unarmed. This was Will's best chance, he stabbed with his saxe. The wargal dodged. Then Will was rolling under the swing of a mace, and the armed wargals fanned out around him, and he knew any chance of escape was gone. So was any chance of winning the fight.

He paused, breathing heavily. Then he hunched his shoulders in an imitation of the broken celticans. He widened his eyes and let his knives drop. Will was not stupid. He was not about to get himself killed. He had a guess that without his cloak, the wargals might mistake him for a celtican, and from what Will had seen, they were in dire need of fit, healthy celticans.

The gamble paid off. One of the wargals, a burlier one that must have been in charge, grumbled something in their strange language. He lowered his mace. Another wargal picked up Will's knives. A third prodded Will's back and with the aid of a few more they rounded him into the column. Will's hands were bound and he was tethered to the other prisoners.

He peered around the shape of the wargals and saw them roll their fallen comrade off the path. They showed no remorse. The one that had ordered Will into the line stepped up to the old man, his mace in his hand. Will cried out, an inarticulate sound from which no one could recognise his foreign accent. He got a blow to the back of his head that sent the world spinning. It suddenly seemed worthless. The celtican had died anyway.

…..

Gilan slept for hours. He had troubled dreams, of Halt and Will tethered by their ankles and dragged behind Faul. He saw them being flogged. He saw Morgarath's stretched lips as he laughed. He woke, certain that he wasn't alone, that there was someone else around. They were fever dreams, and a feverish reality. He wasn't sure when sleep ended and the real world began. Once, he could have sworn he heard the charming apprentice of Chubb's, but there was only the twittering of a bird.

"You go tell Crowley we're in trouble," he muttered. "Go tell him now." He began to get agitated when the bird didn't fly away. "What are you waiting for? Why aren't you helping us. Stupid bird!" Now it did fly away, startled by his voice, and Gilan settled back, satisfied that help was on the way. An hour later, when nothing changed, he wondered if Crowley couldn't be bothered flying out to help them.

It was a fever that stemmed from what fire elves called 'over-burning'. He'd summoned too much fire to burn down the castle, and then suffered so many burns, and his core body temperature had risen. It was a common affliction with fire elves, and it took no more than a day at the most to recover. During his apprenticeship, he and Halt had visited the fire elf kingdom. He'd fitted in so well there, and made so many friends, that he hadn't wanted to leave right away. Gilan had deliberately summoned enough fire to get the fever to postpone their leaving.

Unfortunately, the other fire elves knew the symptoms immediately and told Halt about it. After he'd recovered, Gilan had been made to clean out all the fireplaces in the fire elf castle. Predictably, that was a lot of work. When he complained, Halt gave him a wolfish grin. "You wanted to stay longer, didn't you? You can stay the two days it'll take you to clean them." That was two days from sun-up to nightfall, with three half hour breaks for meals.

So eight hours after Will left him, Gilan's fever passed. He touched the cool cloth on his head, unable to remember Will putting it there. The fire had burned low and he stoked it. He smiled to himself as he recalled a hazy memory of yelling at a bird.

The fire elf shifted to examine his foot. The bandage was all red. He didn't dare unwrap it for fear of what he'd see. Something more than pain curled into his stomach. The pain was excruciating. The knowledge was unbearable.

A ranger needed his feet. A ranger couldn't lose a foot. A ranger needed both feet in prime condition.

Gilan took a deep breath. A ranger also didn't leave his comrades in danger. Especially Will- he was just an apprentice, a boy. The elf gripped his bow. He pressed the end against the turf and braced himself against it. Athletically, he twisted so that his good foot was under him. Then he could stand, using the bow as a walking stick.

He gritted his teeth as he limped along. He fancied he could feel the blood draining out of him. The pain thrummed up his body. A constant agony. It was all the harder in the tough tramping conditions. The uneven, jagged rocks weren't easy footing for a cripple. Gilan set his mind to it and inch by inch, he made his way over the hills.

He knew he wouldn't be much use in close quarter combat. Still, he was certain there must be something he could do. It wasn't his nature to sit about and do nothing, no matter how much pain he was in. His bow skidded on a rock and he slipped. He cried out and ended up sliding down a short slope on his bum. Gilan blinked back reflex tears, shaking with the pain, a soft groan escaping through his teeth. He set the bow in the ground and started again.

It took him much longer than it should have to reach the crest of the hill that overlooked the burnt down castle. Gilan stared down at the pile of rubble. Sweat dribbled down his face and his breaths came in ragged gasps. He eased himself into a lying position that kept him low over the horizen and enabled him to survey the land below.

He could see the entrance to the mines, and noticed as a cart emerged, loaded with what looked to be rocks, pushed by a celtican. Two more celticans followed behind, possibly to take over if the first collapsed- they looked sickly enough for that to be a real possibility. A couple of wargals strolled beside the cart, offering no assistance.

So the mines were up and running. Gilan puzzled over why mining could be so important to Morgarath. The rocks in the cart didn't look like gold. Even if it was, Gilan couldn't understand what use Morgarath would have for gold, let alone ordinary rocks. He wanted to head down there and get a closer look. A throb from his foot enforced that he wouldn't be able to.

Gilan hated his injury. He couldn't bear it and he hoped it would heal fast. He was supposed to be the master of silent movement, yet here he was, hobbling along with his bow as a crutch. It was a bit difficult to remain silent like that.

He watched from the hilltop. A couple more carts emerged over a few hours. It didn't look to be a highly productive mine, and Gilan guessed it wasn't at its full force yet. He was proved right when he saw a column of wargals and celticans march past.

He sucked in a breath. Even from this distance, the unruly hair was unmistakable. Gilan craned forward. Will didn't have his cloak on, but he was a slimmer figure than the others, he walked more upright than them, and Gilan was sure it was the apprentice. Will and the others were rounded into the mines.

"What are you planning?" Gilan whispered to himself. He assumed Will was undercover as a celtican. Why, he didn't know, but he didn't think they'd have put a ranger in the mines if they knew. He was relieved to have seen that Will appeared to be in good health. Gilan had been worried sick that he'd let the boy run off to his death.

After that, Gilan remained on the hilltop, waiting to see if anything would happen. Nothing did. A few more carts left. Will wasn't with any of them. Gilan's hunger started to knaw at him and he munched on a few dry biscuits. Around evening, a movement caught his eye and he saw Faul- that filthy traitor Faul- cantering towards the mines. At irregular intervals, the centaur stopped and scanned the terrain.

He might have been looking for the rangers, Gilan thought. He realised that if Will was pretending to be a celtican, and if Faul entered those mines and saw him, he'd blow Will's cover. Gilan's eyes narrowed. He couldn't let that happen.

Two wargals stood outside the entrance to the mine. Faul exchanged words with them. He looked like he was going to enter- maybe he wasn't searching for them. What business would Faul have in the mines? Gilan didn't know. He didn't know nearly enough. But he knew he couldn't let Faul give away Will's identity as a ranger. He squirmed upright and positioned his bow.

The sun was against him. As he sat up to shoot, he was silhouetted against the hills. One of the wargals raised a finger and pointed, just as Gilan let his arrow fly. Faul reacted with speed, swivelling out the way, and the arrow embedded itself in the wooden frame of the door. Then the centaur was racing up the hill, the wargals shambling behind him.

Gilan cringed. He couldn't outrun a centaur even if he was at his prime condition. He shot twice, three times more. But Faul zig zagged up the hill, avoiding each arrow. He moved unpredictably, and the uneven slope helped to hide him. At times, he disappeared from view. Then he reappeared.

The elf knew he wouldn't miss when the range was short enough. He readied an arrow. When Faul hurtled up to the crest, Gilan released. It spat from his bow and Faul's swerve wasn't enough to avoid it. It peirced his shoulder. It didn't kill him, it wasn't even a terribly bad wound, which was what Gilan had been counting on.

Faul ran straight to him and kicked the bow from his hand. Gilan couldn't keep his grip with the strength of a horse knocking against it. Faul reached down and gripped the elf's hair, pulling him up. The jostled foot howled in protest and Gilan almost blacked out with the agony. His vision blurred.

"Lord Morgarath will be wanting to see you, ranger," Faul said, seeming pleased with his efforts, despite the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. Gilan scowled.

"King Duncan will be wanting to see you," he retorted. "He'll be holding your death warrant."

Faul sniffed. He tensed up at the implied threat, then relaxed again as he reminded himself that he had the advantage. "Here in the Mountains of Rain and Night, we don't need a death warrant to kill, ranger Gilan."

The centaur had a strap around his horse-middle, like a saddlebag. He reached behind him, stopped and gasped as he moved his injured shoulder, and carefuly rummaged around the bag with his good arm. He produced a thick rope and he tied Gilan's hands behind his back. Gilan tensed up, but Faul knew the trick and slapped the elf's knuckles hard.

"That's so your fire won't catch," Faul told him. Indeed, with his arms tied behind him, if Gilan tried to summon flame it wouldn't do him much good. It'd only burn his hands and his clothes. He glared at the ground as Faul disarmed him. At least, Gilan told himself, this meant Faul wouldn't discover Will.

**Please review! (Seriously, please, there's almost 200 reviews) :D**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**Thanks for 200 reviews! We're almost at the end, just a few more chapters to go. **

Torch brackets lines the walls of the mine as it spiralled deeper underground. Will and the fitter celticans were forced to push carts full of tools along iron tracks. Despite the cool, dry, underground air, sweat dribbled to Will's collar. His shoulders ached and throbbed. The feebler celticans were free of burden, but they shuffled along without any more ease. One collapsed. The wargals jabbed him with the blunt end of a spear. When it became apparent the man would not stand, they switched to the pointed end.

The tracks led to a cavern. Here, the torches were on poles along the sides. Miners were at work, chipping at the walls with pickaxes. A couple of them were big burly men. Most of them had lost size through famine, and Will could hardly believe the weedy arms could lift the pickaxes. The party he had arrived with started unloading the carts and finding spots to work, with the wargal's urging. Will himself hesitated to sum up his options. He also had to allow his mind to catch up, to study the daunting cavern of gey rock.

A spear jarred his ribcage. Will winced and gripped his side, sending a glare at the wargal. Begrudgingly, he took a pickaxe and moved to the wall. He'd never mined in his life and he watched the others out of the corner of his eye, attempting to copy their movement. The pickaxe felt clumsy in his hands. He spared a moment to glance around for the wargals- had they noticed he had no natural celtican skill? A couple were at the entrance to the cavern, and four more marched up and down searching for weak links. There wasn't a need for any more down here.

It also didn't help that Will wasn't sure what he was mining for. He hit the stone, making a small dent. A wargal prodded him again and he frowned, unsure of what it wanted. Its eyes gleamed and it grunted, nodding at the rocks. He guessed he wasn't working well enough, so he doubled his efforts and speed and the wargal walked away. As long as he kept swinging, they didn't seem to mind his lack of technique.

The celticans were gathering rocks and adding them to carts. Will grabbed a few shards, as an excuse to head to the cart. Once there he slipped one of the stones into his pocket, as a reference of what he was looking for. He dropped his rock shards into the cart, pushing them to the bottom. It all looked like plain rock to him. He hoped no one would notice if he'd put the wrong type in.

Back at his station, he didn't have time to check what his stone looked like. Didn't have the light either; he'd be better off standing under the torch and examining it carefully. He pretended that he knew what he was doing, and every now and again he delivered random stones to the carts. Once, a wargal fixed a peircing stare at him. His hold on the pickaxe became slippery. Will was certain he'd be beaten. He wasn't, so perhaps the wargal knew nothing of mining, or perhaps it hadn't noticed Will's trickery.

At last, one of the wargals grunted and started chanting. The miners were rounded up like a flock of sheep, nervous of the hunting dogs that prowled about- which was fitting because the wargals did resemble dogs. The spears jabbed them into sitting down. Bread was passed around, just one slice of stale, brown bread. Will devoured it. So did the others, with great eagerness. Then bowls of rice were handed out, but there wasn't enough for everyone. The celticans squabbled over them, knocking them from hands and spilling the precious grains. They picked them off the floor, grain by grain, like the chickens that used to live outside the ward. Will remembered watching them from his tree- they clucked and preened and pecked at the food Maria tossed them, and remained there long after the woman had gone inside, still searching for more meagre peckings.

Despite his own hunger, Will hated the idea of turning into one of the chickens, so he stayed back from the fighting. He wished he'd savoured his bread more. The smell of roasting meat wafted down the mines and he had a brief hope that it was the next course, but none of the celticans reacted to the smell and he realised the wargals had retreated to eat their own meal. It crossed his mind to overpower them and take the meat, but even with all the celticans helping he doubted they could win. The wargals would just draw their swords and cleave them in two.

Will rested his chin on his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. Now that he was still, the dampness of his sweat made him cold. He wished Halt was here, or Gilan. Either would have been a great comfort. He missed them, and he had an unreasonable guilt that he'd abandoned them. He missed Horace too, and Alyss, and Jenny and George and Maria. Even the baron; heck, even battlemaster Rodney and Lady Pauline, whom he couldn't remember ever speaking to but were both important figures at Redmont. And of course Tug.

One of the celticans appraoched him. He sank beside the boy, his joints clicking. He was the one that had spoken when the old man was thrown on the street. "You're not from celtica," he whispered.

Will flinched. He regretted it, and looked anxiously around to make sure no one had overheard and caught him out. When he looked back at the celtican, he saw a kind of understanding in the crinkled eyes, the kind adults had that made them seem so dependable. "How could you tell?" Will whispered back worridly.

The celtican shrugged. "I was watching your mining technique. Don't worry," he added at Will's nervous expression, "the wargals don't know the first thing about mines. I doubt they can tell."

Will breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm from Araluen."

"Ah yes. You have the accent." The celtican held out his closed fist. He paused. Uncertainly, Will unfurled his palm and the celtican dropped a few grains of rice into it. "The name's Glendyss," he said with a sad smile.

"I'm Will." The apprentice stared at the rice in his palm. "Thanks," he said, though he doubted it would make a difference to the pangs of hunger.

"Thank _you_," Glendyss said. Will glanced at him, confused. "The man you tried to defend: he was my brother."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Death is the only escape from this place," Glendyss said. "I'm just sorry he had to go in the light."

It sounded like something from the poetic stories travelling bards used to tell the ward kids. Will cocked his head, puzzled.

"The light?"

"Yes. We all wish to die in the out-of-light."

The conversation was cut short as the wargals dragged them up again and sent them to their stations. Glendyss stood next to Will, but he needed all of his energy to work so they didn't talk any further. The cavern was full of wheezing. One celtican had a form of mental breakdown, where he crumpled to the ground and started sobbing. That was the end of him. Will tried to intervene, but he couldn't make it fast enough. And once the man was gone, there was no use in attracting attention to himself.

Badtime didn't come fast enough. Will had no idea what the time was or how long they had been working when the wagals let them stop. There was simply no way to tell. Glendyss lay down on the rocks and closed his eyes. At first Will was alarmed. Then he realised all the others were doing the same and the wargals didn't mind. He lay beside Glendyss, squirming on the hard rock. Something prodded into his hip and he remembered the stone he'd stolen from the cart. He didn't dare take it out. He wasn't going to get a chance to study it, and he started to regret taking it.

One of the wargals was on watch. The others snored. The celticans wheezed and gasped and coughed in their sleep. Will's stomach growled, protesting about the lack of dinner. He shifted closer to Glendyss. "How long have you been here?" he whispered, trusting the snores to hide his voice.

Glendyss didn't answer right away. His eyes were shut and Will was sure he was fast asleep, that he wouldn't answer. Then he murmured, "years and years, Will. Years and years. But the mines of celtica," he smiled, "I've been mining my whole life. Soon as I could walk my dad let me watch him work."

"How do you bear it?" Will asked. "Hardly ever seeing the sun or the open skies?"

Glendyss vented a rattling cough. "S'not like that Will. I don't like the sun or the skies. This is my place. The out-of-light. The rocks. The grate of steel." His eyes flickered, although it was barely noticable in the near darkness. There was a hiss as the wargal on watch relit one of the torches, and a flicker of gold danced over Glendyss's wrinkles. "Not this place," he added. "Not Morgarath's place. My mines, where we can eat and stay strong."

Will shifted, trying to get more comfortable. "What use does Morgarath have for mines? What are we even mining _for_?"

Glendyss chuckled. "No wonder your mining is so bad. We're finding raygem."

"Raygem? Is it valuable?"

"In a manner of speaking. It isn't as tough as steel for weapons, or as durable as marble for statues, nor as good for crafting as copper or iron, bronze or silver, and it certainly don't sell as gold does. But it is rarer than all of these. I had thought it legend until I was brought here." Glendyss had a strange enthusiasm about him- strange to Will because he couldn't imagine being passionate about rocks of all things.

"Why does Morgarath want this raygem?" Will questioned.

"I don't pretend to know everything about them," Glendyss replied. "I grew up with stories about them. Raygem is supposed to be the only stone that hosts magical properties."

"Magic," Will breathed. It felt like a long time since he'd thought of magic. Now he wondered what Glendyss would think if he knew he was whispering to a werewolf.

"I know it's hard to believe," Glendyss continued – if only he knew, "but Morgarath has another stone. A chunk of moongem."

"You mean- the one that gives him control over his wargals?"

Glendyss frowned. Will quickly told him, "that was what Faul said to me. He could have lied."

"Yes," Glendyss whispered. "I think he lied. I've seen it, see, with my own eyes. The sorceror taught it to -"

"- sorceror!" Will exclaimed, alarmed. He hushed himself, flushing and realising such outbursts could cost him his life. Yet no one had woken, and the wargal didn't have much interest, so perhaps it hadn't been as loud as it seemed to the young ranger.

"Yes. The Lord's right hand man. He taught it to Mister Faul."

"Taught what?" Will pressed, craning to see Glendyss's face in the fading firelight. He bit his lip as a wargal stepped over them to relight the torch and clamped his eyes shut as the red light washed over him.

"The spell. Mister Faul touches the raygem to the moongem. He chants these words. Then- kapoof- the raygem turns into a wargal." The shadows made his face seem darker, more ominous, his wrinkles more pronounced.

"You mean to tell me," Will gasped, "that Morgarath is using the raygem to create wargals?"

Glendyss's eyelid twitched. "Stop calling him that Will. Just call him the Lord. If anyone overhears, they'll be more kindly to you. And yes, that is what he is using raygem for."

"I don't believe it," Will breathed.

"Neither did I. Then I saw it." Glendyss shuddered, his frail body seeming even more delicate. "The wargals aren't like any natural beast. Nor any magical creature. They come from the rock."

"They are...awful."

"There is nothing we can do," Glendyss said with a crooked smile.

Will disagreed. "I'll do something. I promise."

Glendyss didn't look convinced. He sighed to himself, said good night, and rolled over. Will chewed his lip, frantically trying to come up with a plan. Nothing came to him. He drifted to sleep and dreamed that all the rocks in the cavern turned into a swarm of wargals.

….

The creak of the barred iron door roused Halt from his doze. He frowned to himself, a tight knot twisting in his stomach. It was the middle of the night, and a break from the regular pattern. Perhaps this was to be the time Morgarath tortured him? So far, there had only been a threat. Halt knew the dark lord would go through with it; the question was when.

It was not to be the time. Faul manhandled a very familiar figure into the prison, while a wargal stood by holding a lantern. Gilan's face was bruised, his hands fastened behind his back, his hair matted. Halt closed his eyes in despair.

Faul chained the fire elf to the wall, similar to how Halt was. There was only one cell in the dungeon. Evidently Morgarath had planned for one ranger. After all, in his isolated mountains he would just kill anyone who misbehaved; never imprison them. Faul trotted away without a word, and the wargal took up a post by the door.

"Halt!" Gilan exclaimed, slumping to the ground. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He massaged his temples, strangely exhausted for someone who had been sitting in one place for hours. "What about you?" He'd noticed his former apprentice had a limp.

"I'm okay," Gilan said, his eyes sliding away. Halt's frown deepened, an uneasy sense building in him.

"Are you sure? You had a limp." He tried to make out Gilan's foot in the dark, but he could only see the faint shape. The wargal's lantern didn't reach every corner of their cell. As if he noticed the scrutiony, Gilan edged his foot away.

"Gilan. You know better than to hide injuries." This time, Halt kept his voice soft. He at least didn't have his hands bound and he tugged on Gilan's to untie them too. The rope was thick and tightly tied- Gilan's fingers were blue at the tips- and he gave up. Instead, he bent over and pressed the tips of his fangs into the rope, careful not to cut the other ranger. The binding fell away. Gilan rubbed his raw wrists.

"I had a bit of rock land on me when I burnt down the castle, is all," Gilan answered with false lightness. Halt felt his way to the ankle. He recgnised the feel of bandages, and the wetness of soaked through blood. Gilan hissed and Halt quickly took his hand away.

"How bad is it?" he demanded.

Gilan hesitated. "I can't walk on it," he admitted.

"Have you lost a lot of blood?" Halt pressed. He tore off a strip of his ranger cloak and wrapped another layer around it. He wasn't sure it would help, but he didn't see it could hurt.

"I don't know," Gilan sighed. Halt shot him a peircing look. "I feel a little dizzy."

"Keep it elevated," Halt instructed. He lifted the leg and propped it over his own. "Damn," he sighed, expressing all of his concerns in the word. Then another thought occurred to him. Horrified, he leaned closer to his former apprentice. "Will?' he asked urgently. "Where's Will?"

Gilan shrugged. He glanced at the wargal on guard. Halt nodded, understanding. They couldn't speak of it without endangering their young friend. The fire elf whispered in his mentor's ear, "I think, for now, he's relatively safe."

Some of the tension drained out of Halt's shoulders. Unfortunately, in the mountains of rain and night, relatively safe wasn't all that safe at all.

**Sorry, it's a shorter chapter. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

In the morning, their numbers increased. Will was woken by a sharp prodding at his ribs. He thought it was a stick at first and tried to squirm away. It was hard to get comfortable in the forest. The prodding continued and as he wakened, he realised he was not in the forest. It was Glendyss's bony elbow digging into his side.

"What?" he grumbled. Glendyss's eyes were close to manic yellow in the torchlight. The arch of his nose and his pursed lips gave him a spooky, intense look. Will regretted his bad temper in the morning and offered an apologetic smile. Then he realised there was more at stake than Glendyss's feelings. If the wargals recognised his Araluen accent, that could be the end of him. What a sad mistake that would be.

"Time for work," Glendyss whispered. Around them, the wargals were butting the celticans with their spears, manhandling them back to the mine. "If you get up by yourself, it saves bruises." His bones creaked as he stood up. He didn't look in any codition for mining. He didn't look like he'd be in any condition for mining after a year of solid sleep.

Will hopped to his feet. The training under Halt had done him more good than he realised, and even bruised and weary and hungry, he was fit enough to work. Fitter than anyone else down here anyway, with the exception of the wargals, and they were all hard muscle and matted fur- they didn't look like it was physically possible for them to be softened with fat.

He saw there were three more wargals, with another column of celticans bound together. These were in slightly better shape. The majority were younger with more rebellion in their eyes. Their spirit had not been so dampened that they didn't search for an escape.

"Newcomers," Glendyss murmured. "They're all like that. In a month, they'll be hobbling along with the rest of us. If they last that long." Will wasn't sure if the sound that came from his mouth was a cough or a sigh.

"How often do they catch new celticans?" Will inquired.

"Often enough to replace the old," Glendyss answered. "A few from here, a few from there." He waved his hands around. Will was reminded of a begger he'd once seen on the streets of Wensley, draped in a blanket with a tangled grey beard and wandering eyes. Like everyone else, he'd hurried past with a sense of discomfort. Next time, he promised himself he would spare the man a coin or loaf of bread.

They set to work again. The carts were filled more rapidly with the addition of the new celticans. One young man, not much older than Will, sat down and refused to do any work. "What'll you do about it?" he challenged and that was the last thing he ever said. Will had tried to warn him. It had been too late. So he carried on hacking away at the rocks and pretending to dump stones into the carts, conscious that every raygem that piled up equalled a wargal.

For the most part, the new celticans had the job of wheeling in and out the carts. One of the wargals went with them, and selected them with a ram of the spear. On occasion, the cart would return with only one celtican pushing it. Will had not even been there for a whole day, morning to night. Still, he felt a restless horror sinking into him, and the acceptance of the other celtcians rubbed off on him. He could see that it would be far too easy to give up, submerged in darkness as he was.

A wargal grunted close to his ear. Startled, Will realised he'd sort of dozed off in the familiar rythym. He flinched and started swinging his pickaxe faster. Then he realised that the wargal wasn't berating him. It was shoving Glendyss over to the cart.

Will bit his lip. The celtican looked so weak and fragile, as if his bones would fracture from a tap, that he couldn't believe Glendyss would be able to push the cart. The wargals ripped the pickaxe from his hands. They waved and wandered until they closed over the handle of the cart, the knuckles protruding from a thin layer of skin.

"I'll-" Will swallowed thickly. He'd been about to volunteer before he remembered his accent. He hurried over to the cart and seized the handle, trying to look subservient. The wargal eyed him suspiciously. He kept his gaze fixed at the ground.

He'd seen them pick two at a time for the carts, so he knew they'd have selected another anyway. One hit him with the spear and he and Glendyss began pushing the cart. The wargal seemed to have accepted his offer.

The rail was rickety and broken, but at least it helped propel the cart forward. Will did most of the pushing. He didn't mind, Glendyss looked to have trouble keeping up as it was and just rested his skeleton hands on the handle. The wargal escorted them and took persistant delight in reminding them of their position by whacking the blunt end of the spear over their shoulders.

Will had to take deep, steady breaths to take the hits without retaliating. It was tempting to try and take the spear for himself and escape. But the mountains were crawling with wargals, especially down in the mines, and in any event he wasn't confident in his ability to overpower a wargal. The spear was a constant bully, and there was also a short sword in its belt.

The cart, loaded with raygem, was much heavier than Will had predicted. He had to lean forward and put all his efforts in it when they headed uphill. Sweat trailed from his hairline to his chin and soaked into his collar. Glendyss's laboured breathing, the wargals heavy footsteps, the rattle of the cart on the tracks- it all seemed very distant from the faint clinks of pickaxes against stone.

At the end of the tunnel was a bright light. Will squinted against what seemed to him a white dot. Glendyss made a small mewl of protest, and he glanced at Will, his eyes narrow, the beads of sweat gleaming. It was the only time the werewolf ever came close to understanding why Glendyss did not like the light. From here, it did seem as if they were walking into a blinding inferno of white light.

But when they emerged, the sky was blue; the clouds fluffed up like he fluffed his pillow before he went to sleep, and the rocks that had seemed so dull were now veined with reddish browns and greys and speckled. It hadn't been long since the castle had burned. Yet the remains no longer crumbled and smoked. It appeared a ruin no different from those that had been deserted for centuries. He saw the rail twist towards the castle, near to where the stone had been.

The wargal snarled and dug his spear between Will's shoulderblades. The apprentice flinched and allowed himself to be guided off the tracks. If he'd had breakfast, perhaps he'd have more energy for physical work. As it was, he choked back a groan as he lifted the cart off the rail and onto the rocks. Glendyss clung to the handle, no use at all.

The uneven rocks made it difficult to shove the cart. At one stage it got stuck. Will had to crouch and heave it with all his strength to dislodge the wheel from a crevace. The wargal became agitated. It paced back and forth, growling; it pointed the spear at them and a smear of blood on the tip was visible in the sunlight. It settled down when Will got the cart moving, though it kept a careful eye on them.

The further the travelled, the more Glendyss hunched over the cart. Will looped an arm around the man's waist. The wargal stirred and the ranger cast an annoyed glare at him. He wasn't about to let Glendyss drop over. He'd seen what happened to the celticans that did that. It didn't make things any eaiser on Will though. He found Glendyss leaned on him and even that skinny, starving weight helped to tire the apprentice out.

He slipped back to that same practical frame of mind as he had when he was sneaking around on his own. Scanning everything, observing quietly. Never feeling; he didn't dare let himself feel the _sadness_ of it all, the terrible tragidy of the condition the celticans were in. The fear that he might never leave the mountains. Emotions like that hovered above him, detatched, orange peel that had been tossed away. He thought 'there's a bird over there' and 'Glendyss is breathing loud' not 'why do the birds still sing while prisoners are killed?' or 'Glendyss might not survive much longer.' His mind was carefully moderated.

The houses and the castle came into view. Will bit his lip, searching the patchwork slabs as if he might see through the walls and spot Halt. He closed his eyes briefly. The mountains seemed endless and daunting, and he might as well be no larger than an ant. He felt alone. Lost. Certainly not like a scary werewolf.

He couldn't help a yip as the spear thwacked him again. If not for his accent, he would have exclaimed that he didn't know which way to go so there was no point in stabbing and prodding him. Will opted to go straight. The wargal followed in contentment for a while, then whacked at Will's ribs, and the apprentice took this as his cure to switch direction.

There was a pattern that didn't take long to figure out. A prod between the shoulder blades was straight ahead. A hit on the left side of the ribcage was turn right, a hit on the right side was turn left. A hit on the calf was speed up. In the morning, Will was sure to have a mass of bruises. He suspected he would be more bruise than boy.

The tide of wargals thickened as they carried on. Glendyss started to tremble. Will tried to offer an encouraging smile, but his lips felt stretched and shaky. The were so many furred bodies flowing around them, frothing at the mouth and chanting. Through the throng, he caught a glimpse of an alter, and the stone, the moongem, laid upon it.

Excitement was not an emotion he associated with wargals. He was not expecting to see them grab at the cart. The guard wargal snarled at them and waved the infuriating spear around. They backed off, still chanting. The droning hum strengthened in volume, rising to a climax. It beat at the wind, thundered, whipped like the rapids of a river. One of them brushed against Will and he swore his heart stopped. He shuddered and hugged himself, shrinking into a tiny blade of grass.

Then there came a great crack, and the wargals howled, even the guard wargal. The chanting turned into something less stuctured, more impulsive. Will and Glendyss cowered in the middle of it all.

"What's going on?" Will dared to whisper. Pale faced, Glendyss leaned closer.

"They're using the raygems. They just made a wargal."

Will swallowed. The chanting started again, a slow current, that grew and grew. He and Glendyss were made to push the cart closer to the moongem. Fangs and snouts and bear like paws flashed past his vision. The stuff of nightmares. Bloody eyes, glowing, gleaming, reflecting howls and ghoulish grins.

All for this stone. A fairly regular looking, grey hunk of stone. In the light, he could see the raygem was regular looking too, with black flecks in it, and he wondered what set it apart aside from magical properties. He couldn't see how the celticans could tell them apart from regular stone.

The guard wargal and several others ordered the crowd back. Will could see why they needed to keep the stone outside in the open where there was plenty of space, if this was the reaction everytime they made new wargals. Glendyss started to unload the raygem and the apprentice followed his lead.

Then he paused, because the chanting of the wargals had died down in anticipation and he heard another voice chime over them. "Can you lot try to act composed?" It was a familiar voice and the instant he heard it, Will ducked his head, his curls flopping over his face. He worked to unload the raygem quicker, his plan to find out where Halt was disregarded by impatience to be back in the relative safety of the mines.

"I don't know why my Lord lets you run rampent," Faul complained. "If it's his bidding, I suppose it's the way it is. Even so." The wargals stirred and snarled, and their fur bristled in hostility. Will hoped a brawl would break out. Chaos was a better defence than armour, whether it be a shine of steel or rustic bronze.

Over the tips of wargals ears, he saw more centaurs approaching. He should really have spotted Faul earlier- he'd been too focused on pushing the cart and checking on Glendyss and cringing at the proximity of the wargals. Halt would have given him a savage lecture on staying alert to his surroundings. Aside from observation, he should have guessed. Glendyss had told him a sorceror taught Faul how to use the moongem.

"Get the celticans to unload faster, you mongrels, and I'll-" he broke off. Will tensed. When Faul continued it was in a clipped, urgent tone. "Him! Is he new? Who found him?" The guard wargal didn't seem in any hurry to answer- if he could understand english at all. Will wondered how strong the telepathic connection to Morgarath was, and if the dark lord himself would know there was a ranger apprentice in his kingdom.

Will dropped to the ground, slipping between the wargals, just as he heard Faul's outraged cry of "that's the other ranger, you blithering idiots!" Death quivered on the horizen, what seemed to be inevitable, yet alluding him for the time being as he slithered under the swing of a mace, keeping low to the ground. No offence or trickery here; he had no mind to accomplish anything except to live. He wanted to live to see another sunset, to even howl at the moon and wake battered.

Wet, sticky fluid dripped down his arm. He couldn't figure out what it was at first, just that it dribbled between his thumb and his forfinger. When it clicked that it was blood, his arm just above his elbow started to hurt. The wargals pressed in on him, as if he'd been sucked deep into the coastline currents, and now the waves were crashing forth, tossing the seaweed to and fro. He was a crab, scuttling low to the ground, gripping the rocks as tightly as he could and avoiding the sharp weapons and grabbing paws.

Around the centaurs, there was a gap, like rocks jutting out of the stormy waters. He recalled, in some vague part of his mind that could think more than dodge left dodge right get down that wargals were supposed to be afraid of horses, hence why the cavalry had frightened them at the battle of Hackham Heath, and he supposed they harnessed the same trepidation with the centaurs.

Will lunged forward, rolled, right under the hooves of one of them. It wasn't exactly a peaceful reprieve, though he was briefly free from the attack of the wargals. A hoof clobbered his hip, another on his leg. He wasn't about to be washed up with the wargals again, so he wrapped his arms around the foreleg of the centaur.

The centaur had been thrown off balance and alarmed as he tripped her. She skipped a few paces to regain her balance, and feeling the weight on her leg, some sort of alarm must have triggered for she started to canter towards the buildings. Perhaps the horse part of her mind panicked, or perhaps she was sick of the hordes of wargals too. Faul yelled for her to stop, but instinct overran her human logic, and she was probably confused at what was going on, so she kept on charging.

Will clung on desperately. He thudded against the rocks, his back bumping along, and staring at her underbelly blurring above him. His hip ached where her hoof had connected with it. His arm stung too now. Even worse was his back rubbing on the rocks. It was agony. He couldn't tell if it was bruised or bleeding, just that it burned.

His neck muscles strained with the tension of keeping his head up, even as momentum wanted to slam it into the ground. He couldn't risk a head injury. Will twisted and managed to glimpse that they broke free of the wargals and were amongst the buildings. He gave up; he simply couldn't hold on any longer. He let go, rolling, getting a hoof right between the shoulder blades, just where the guard wargal liked to jab him with the spear.

Blistering pain was the ultimate temptation. He'd do almost anything to make it stop. In fact, it wasn't the hordes of wargals running towards him that encouraged him to get up, it was Halt in that castle not so far away. So Will rolled over and scrabbled to his feet, ignoring the protest in his hip, ignoring the dull burn of his back and trying not to think about the torn fragments of cloth that stuck to his spine.

The wargals weren't the main concern now. He hadn't noticed the centaurs that had broken free of the crowd and chased him down, unable to dislodge him, but running beside, behind and ahead of the panicked centaur. In his peripheral vision he sensed more than saw that another centaur had calmed her down, or at least she'd stopped running. But that was the end of his observation because he had to keep moving.

A centaur grabbed at him, and he ducked- his short stature made it difficult for them to reach him if he crouched. Another swept a sword at him, and he dropped low to avoid this too. But getting up again was hard, with his torn back and aching hip and his ribs felt like they were about to burst free of his chest. He rolled over, hissing, and a centaur stopped his progress there with a swift kick, so he tried to get away the other way and realised it was blocked. Faul approached him from the front, with a smirk, a sword in his hand.

His back hit the wall of a house, and his vision blurred as a wave of pain threatened to defeat him. He braced himself to run, then a sense of hopelessness overcame him. Will couldn't see a way out of his predicament. Three centaurs had him backed to a wall, all armed with swords pointing at him, and even if he managed to crawl under them, there were more centaurs nearby, and wargals still coming for him, chanting.

Strangely enough, more than he despaired that his life was over, he agonised that he'd let Halt down. That, for him, was the worst of it.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

**Schoolwork won't allow regular updates. Also, I was thinking about quitting fanfiction and I wrote a page long author's note about that, but then I deleted it because I started writing and realised I'm not quite ready to quit. When I reach the end of my written down ideas, then I'll quit. Yeah, that'll be ages away though ;)**

"Gilan." The word was spoken quietly, at a low pitch, seeming to hum in the death silence of the dungeon like a familiar lullaby. Yet somehow it conveyed a great deal more purpose than to sooth the injured fire elf- it held anxiety, apprehension, a touch of misgiving.

Gilan ran his hands through his hair, noting that it was growing longer though that had little relevence in their current situation. He knawed at his lip and shuffled his bum on the cold stone. Anything to relieve the tension that coiled in his stomach, to forget the pain radiating from his foot and the ineviateble question that he'd have to ask if they got out of here alive. A frightening question, but one that was a long way away as of yet.

"Gilan." Halt said again.

"Will's out there on his own," Gilan said miserably. His breath was coming faster. It misted in front of him in puffs. He tried to imagine he was comfortably smoking a pipe, like his father sometimes did as he rocked on an armchair on the porch enjoying the last trace of evening sun and complaining about the work a battlemaster had to do. It didn't help relax Gilan any.

"I know." Halt said. "Keep that foot elevated."

But Gilan vented a frustrated groan and pushed against the wall with his elbow, drawing his knee up so his good foot was flat against the gound. He gritted his teeth and did the same with the bad foot. Halt gripped his arm.

"Don't," he warned, in his 'I'm-your-master-and-you'd-better-listen-to-me-or- else' voice.

"I've got to walk on it at some stage," Gilan protested. Even in the gloomy light, it was evident that Halt's eyebrows creased and his jaw tightened. "I've got to," Gilan continued, a feverish glint in his eye. This time, the fever wasn't from overusing fire. He needed a healer.

"Wait. Rest." Halt instructed. He felt he couldn't manage much more than disjointed words. He too was tired- he had hardly slept in the dungeon and the strain of worrying about his young friends was taking it's toll. It was wise to save himself. He had a feeling he'd need his remaining strength if Gilan was determined to go through with what they'd discussed. It certainly seemed he was, ruined foot or no ruined foot.

When they heard the thud of wargal steps, they both stiffened. He could not be completely certain of the time, for the sunlight didn't reach them here, but Halt suspected it had not been the full term between the breakfast piece of stale bread and lukewarm lentil soup and the dinner piece of stale bread and lukewarm lentil soup. He glanced across at Gilan, and in the light of a lowburnt torch in its bracket on the adjacent wall, he saw that the fire elf had come to the same conclusion. It was time for Morgarath to see them. Torture them.

The heavy barred door rattled as the wargals opened it. There were five of them, grumbling under their breath as if they were missing out on great fun someplace else. One stood outside the door with a sword drawn. The other two stepped in and held their own swords at the rangers, while the remaining two unlocked the shackles holding them in place.

But the wargal hovering over Gilan must have known of the damaged foot, because it was watching Halt as well, and held the sword loosely, casually. Halt had whispered as much in the darkness earlier. "It'll be then or never, Gil," he had said. "When Morgarath is finished with us, we won't be able to walk- if we're still alive that is. We have to get out before then, when they release us from these blasted chains. Then or never." And Gilan had nodded and said he'd be ready and they tried to hatch a devious, tricky plan but there was nothing they could come up with that the mind-controlled wargals would fall for- no greed to manipulate, no peculiar fear unless they counted cavalry and they didn't exactly have any of that. So Halt conceded they'd have to have the element of surprise- they'd have to count on the wargals not expecting any fight from them- and hope to hell that they weren't too badly outnumbered. Then he'd studied Gilan, and the fire elf had stiffened and said, "I'm alright to fight. I'll have to be."

So the second Gilan heard the click of the twisting key, he lit the flesh of his hands with bright orange flame. He slammed one hand into a wargal's knee. The coarse hide they wear flickered and burned and it paused to fan it out. It gave Gilan the chance to address the armed wargal, tackling its legs unexpectantly. The sword whooshed over his head. The flame burned up this one's pants too. He let go; rolled free just as the sword arced down where he would have been. No time to pause. No time to think. He hopped on his good leg and grappled the first wargal's neck, ignoring the flames. Lit it's collar. Held on as it bucked, trying to dislodge him. Halt's words had remained thick in the air the second he'd spoken them – 'then or never'. Now or never. If only Gilan's mind wasn't hazy. Smoky. His vision disappeared on him. Came back again.

He wasn't sure entirely of what was going on. The other wargal was busy trying to put out the fire- or he assumed so as a sword hadn't been driven into his back. Halt must have been dealing with the others. Hopefully he'd distracted them with the burst of fire. Then Halt would have had the momentum to move.

The fifth wargal- Gilan's hazy mind remembered. He was struck by the thought that it would be heading for him or Halt. He was too vulnerable. He let the wargal go, but his foot wouldn't take his weight and he collapsed on the stone. Something flashed over his head. He turned, and glaring hate filled eyes seemed to envelop him. Then blood. But not his own blood. Even though he was in enough pain for it- his blasted foot.

He felt dizzy. Nausious. Spinning. Halt leaned over him. He was holding a wargal sword. A firm hand gripped Gilan's elbow. The fire elf was forced to his feet. The walls seemed to cave in over him and his foot screamed and he fell against his mentor. Halt wouldn't stand for it.

"You said you'd be able to walk," he muttered. "Keep your word." Darkness crept in the corners of his gaze, then receded as he was shaken and Halt's face filled his vision. "Keep you word," Halt repeated, harsher this time and more urgent. Gilan nodded weakly. He managed to take more of his weight himself. A wargal sword was pressed into his hand. He clenched his knuckles around it. At least, it was something to focus on.

Later, Gilan didn't remember too much of what happened. He dug deep inside of himself, pulling steel to the surface to rest just under his skin. Halt couldn't carry him the whole way to safety, particularly since safety was so far away, annd besides, Halt had to find Will. So he made himself walk on the foot. He ebbed in and out of two extremes- alert where everything seemed painfully clear to a distant, hazy, blurry vision.

The halls seemed long. He dreamed about them in nights to come- the swelling hallways at the fringes of his vision, limping through this never ending maze, catching the bright eyes of wargals. Yet Halt told him there had been few wargals about. They had all been distracted and he could hear their chanting faintly as they celebrated their magical moongem. He also said he had not pulled Gilan too far through the halls. The stairwell had been the tricky part, and he'd had to take out a few more wargals. Gilan had helped, so he was told, although he struggled to remember this part. Halt shrugged and said the fire elf's eyes had sharpened in the halls, so perhaps that was when he managed to win over the pain.

He did remember the window. There were simple wooden shutters to keep out the cold. Winter wouldn't be Morgarath's favourite time of the year because Halt ripped the shutters off and leapt out the window. Disoriented, Gilan had a brief fear that his mentor had just plummetted to his death. Then he had a sharper moment and realised all those flights of stairs would have only led them to the ground floor, since the dungeon had been underground. Besides, he could see Halt beckoning him. He fought back his illogical thoughts- his sense evaporated in the moments the pain overtook him and he felt that he would black out. He recovered and clamboured through the window. Halt held onto his elbows and hefted him through, then let his former apprentice lean against him as his foot touched the ground. Gilan's eyes fluttered, then cleared. He nodded.

"Alright. I'm alright," he managed.

Halt glanced around. The way was clear and he tugged on Gilan's arm to lead him to the cluster of houses where they might have some cover. Gilan resisted, with an uncertain flicker of his gaze to the west.

"Thought we were going to get into the hills?" he inquired.

"We won't make it," Halt said curtly. "You can't walk that far. And it's open ground for at least a hundred metres. We'll have cover in the houses." He set off at a brisk walk, which was about all Gilan could manage, and even that was a strain. His hand stayed firmly under Gilan's elbow, slipping around his waist when the elf started to lag.

The chanting of the wargals grew louder as they treaded through the deserted town. They sank down against a building. Or rather, Gilan sank, and Halt's position with his arm around the elf's waist forced him down as well.

"I need to-" Gilan began in a harsh whisper. Halt nodded swiftly. They both knew they couldn't afford to rest for long. "You should- Will-" He shut his mouth as they heard hoofbeats. Halt leapt to his feet, heaving Gilan after him. A short whimper escaped at the sudden shot of pain. He was dragged around the side of the building, just as a centaur galloped past.

Halt frowned, a slight sense of unease worming away at him though he couldn't say exactly why. He silently urged Gilan to keep moving with a touch and they carried on through the buildings. Another centaur went past. This time, they didn't manage to hide, just pressed into the shadows, and the centaur gave them barely a glance.

"Something's going on," Halt murmured, once they were alone again. He didn't dare speak much, wouldn't elaborate on the distraction of the centaurs which meant they were intent on something. It wasn't worth making unecessary noise. He knew Gilan could figure that much out no matter the pain he was in.

"Will," Gilan said fearfully. It was the same thought that plagued Halt. They exchanged a worried glance. Halt saw the resignition in the fire elf's eyes and felt a distinct uncertainty that was unusual for him. How could he choose between one son, injured and in front of him, and the younger son, possibly injured and probably in trouble? Both were in need of his help. But even the best mentor could not be beside both of them.

"Go after him. Go look," Gilan said, and Halt was sorely tempted to reprimand him for ordering his mentor about. He refrained as the elf appeared to be in such pain, but he filed it away for when they were back in Redmont. "If it is Will, he'll need your help."

Still torn, Halt reluctantly told himself Gilan could not walk any further. And Will was just a boy. The elf broke free of his hold while he debated with himself, and crouched in the shadow of a building, his injured foot tucked under him. "No one's looking for me here," he added, pressing the argument. "They're all distracted. They won't see me."

"Morgarath will know we've escaped soon," Halt warned. Then he realised this was not the time or place for a reasoned argument. He sighed to himself and knew he would just have to do what felt right, as he always resorted to in these difficult situations. Experience had taught him that being indecisive could be worse than making the wrong decision. So he came to a conclusion and nodded curtly.

"Take care," he muttered. Then he followed in the hoofprints of the centaur, heading towards the commotion, after noticing the brief, tired smile Gilan gave. He flitted from building to building, never straying far from the shadows. His hearing was strained- every drum of a hoof against rock was magnified and instantly he was calculating which direction it came from and how far away it was. The chanting of the wargals had been a constant roll of thunder that he felt just under his skin, but now it had broken up into individual chants that clashed terribly with each other, a grating sound of chaos and urgency.

He thought the sound became more cohesive as he darted over a open space, sinking into the shadows once more, longing for the comforting folds of his cloak. Perhaps Morgarath had exercised his mind control and regrouped them, giving them purpose in the confusion. He would know by now that the ranger's had escaped. And he would be spitting. Halt knew the stakes- if any one of them were caught now there would be no more waiting for torture. They would be killed on sight. The image of his smiling young companions facing Morgarath's wrath was one that was chilling and he knew he could not allow it to happen- no trusted mentor could.

They might have found unity in their chant, but individual wargals were scattered all around. He heard a single grunt of a chant to his left, obscured behind a building, and another on the parrallel street. Then he heard, just before he saw, two wargals strolling down an adjacent street. In all his years of experience, Halt had never quite been able to express in words the way it all slows down in these moments. He'd heard accounts from various soldiers that 'time froze' but the phrase had been so overused (often by Crowley in his dramatic recounts of missions) that it seemed weak and cliched.

Yet indeed, from when he consciously heard the footsteps, he had time to process which street they came from and that wargals would be emerging soon. It seemed that he stilled as he searched for possibilities and he seemed to be dismissing them logically, rationally, _slowly_, even though such a small fraction of time passed; so few deceptively irrelevent seconds that he would never bother to speak of. Then Halt saw them step into his street. It was just a glimpse of them before he slipped inside one of the houses that he presumed to be empty, closing the door carefully and quickly behind him.

That could have been a mistake. It was a risk. He had no proof of the vacancy; he merely assumed that all wargals would be out dealing with whatever was going on. If there had been a wargal in there, he would have been trapped. Though he was tense and alert, ready for a disaster and braced for a fight, the resulting noise of that fight would have drawn more wargals and Halt would be backed into a corner.

He was lucky. They'd had a lot of luck so far and this was no exception. The house was deserted. For good measure, he grabbed a short sword from the weapon rack on the wall, dropped belly down and crawled under the bed. He felt ridiculous doing it, but he couldn't be sure the two wargals hadn't seen the door click shut behind him. And he heard their footsteps nearing, heard them break from the chant to grunt something unintelligible to his ears.

Halt was right to be cautious, even if he did feel like a child hiding in his parents' bedroom. A crack of light appeared under the doorway and a boot clomped over the threshhold. He saw the boots pause as their owner looked around. The wargal grunted. Halt could almost imagine the translation- 'I swore I saw the door move' and when the other wargal let off a growl he hoped that meant 'you're imagining things, nothing's here!'

He wanted to avoid a fight if he could help it, else the noise would attract swarms of wargals and that would not be good for the ranger's health. Even so, he kept his sword pointed at the boots, ready to defend himseld if he needed to. They had a keen sense of smell, Halt knew, but he was also conscious that the room was revoltingly ripe and musky and he suspected there was a stash of uneaten food under here with him along with god alone knows what else. The more unconcerned of the two wargals grunted something again. They left, slamming the door behind them. It was an abrupt parting and Halt suspected Morgarath had doubled his mental strength in calling his wargals to find the rangers. If this was so, it was ironic that the force of that hold pulled the wargals away from one of the people they were so eager to find, back into the throng of action where they probably thought the rangers must be.

Halt waited a moment. He was conscious of something poking into his leg. When he reached back to push it away, his fingers grasped smooth wood, and it seemed such a strange feel to have under the bed that when he crawled out he took the object with him into the light. He recognised it. Of course he did and turned it over in his hands, examining every detail on the recurve bow, just to be certain. Halt dropped to the floor again, feeling under the bed. His fingers closed over coarse wool and he recognised that before he'd even tugged it into the light. Ranger cloak. Will's.

He found the quiver under the bed as well and slung it over his back. Halt strung the bow, flexing the drawcord experimentally. Then he donned the cloak, the folds sliding over his shoulders to end just before his ankles- it was fitted to Will and slightly too small. It was only a woollen cloak and a recurve and only rangers could understand why Halt had a wolfish smile creeping over his features as if the tides had changed.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

A long time ago- at least it seemed that way now- Will thought he'd hated Horace. That's what hate is to a boy. When you hide up a tree while a bigger boy brandishes a wooden sword below you, that's hate to a boy. When you want so badly to make your father proud but a bully has a better shot of being a knight than you, that's hate to a boy. Or when Jenny ignored him in favour of Horace, or when Alyss was fed up with his antics and took Horace's side, or when George tried to logically intervene but made things worse, or when Maria wouldn't come near him because he was a werewolf. That's hate to a boy.

It seemed Will had grown up fast in a year. Because he knew that wasn't hate now. That was nothing compared to staring up at Faul's eyes, and taking in the satisfactory glint there and the smirk that showed he knew he'd won- a total disregard for the life he was about to take. Will _hated _him. He hated him as the sword rose, as it cleaved through the air, a beam of sunlight catching the steel so that it shone impressively silver; unbearably silver and pure and untarnished. And when that steel tip darkened with blood, Will wouldn't be around to see that. So really that silver gleam was the last thing he ever saw.

Or rather, it _should_ have been the last thing he ever saw. But he saw it cease it's movements. Somehow, his gaze must have flitted straight back to Faul's face, because the next thing he saw was puckered centaur lips, wide gobsmacked eyes, sallow cheeks convulsing with a guttural cough. Then sound came rushing back to him- the chant of wargals, the clamour of feet, the thud as three- no four- centaurs toppled to the ground. The fourth had just appeared when the arrow struck him between his shoulder blades. When Faul fell, Will had to scramble out of the way, propelled by his fingers and toes. He saw the black arrow shaft sticking out of Faul's back. It could only have been Halt's. Desperately, Will glanced around for his mentor. He was starting to doubt if he did hate Faul at all, because he felt no satisfaction from the death. A lot of relief though.

Halt's name was on his tongue. Just in time, he fought the urge to call it out. He wouldn't risk giving away the ranger's position. Still he scanned the buildings for his mentor, with an almost illogical belief that if he could find Halt, go and stand beside him, he would be safe. Even here, in this jumble of wargals, he would be safe.

Halt waved at him, a shadowy figure at the point where the streets intersected, in the pool of a shadow from one of the buildings. It wasn't a come-join-me wave. It was a foolish-apprentice-move godammit!- wave. And it was quick as he tried to minimise the time he would be visible to the enemy. Will tore his gaze away. That took more effort than he had expected. The wargals had caught up to them now, a huge tide of them. But the ones at the front hesitated as they saw the dead centaurs, their fallen bodies surrounding Will. The doubt crossed their faces, spreading like the plague, their peculiar fear of horses overpowering them.

In the hesitation, Will finally accepted that he had not died but he would if he didn't get going. Arrows flew from the ranger in the shadows, striking down the wargals nearest to Will. The apprentice staggered to his feet. His hip throbbed and his ribs were on fire. His back was sticky and the rock where he had been cornered was stained red. He hissed under his breath and started to jog down the street. At first, the pain in his hip fought against every step. It never faded. Will adapted to it, ignored it, and quickened his pace.

The wargals had overcome their surge of fear. Morgarath might have felt it and urged them onwards. The image of the black lord seething in his towers, encouraging the wargals to fall upon the rangers with a wrath unknown to a saner man made Will shudder. A large protion of him wished to run to his mentor for help and comfort. To cave to this side of himself would be a violation of everything he'd been taught. He knew it was imperative Halt remained hidden. He should not acknowledge him anymore. With great reluctance, Will made his way up the opposite side of the street Halt was on. The wargals chased him, their chant losing its clarity. He was lucky they had a shambling gait. He was lucky Halt was there, firing arrow after arrow.

He was lucky the fire flared up when it did.

Further off, a thick mass of smoke started to rise. Bright flashed of orange flame licked at the thatched roof of one of the far off houses. Then the neighbouring building was lit with fire and the smoke thickened. The stone structures themselves would not burn, but the support beams and furniture would and some of the roofs.

Half of the wargals switched targets to whatever was the cause of the fire. They might have remembered the devastation of the castle by the mine, or maybe Morgarath was shrieking in their heads 'don't you let my city burn!' The other half were momentarily distracted. Will wasn't thinking with his mind anymore. He let the instincts of escaping up the old tree by the ward take over and shot up the stone edge of a building. They weren't particularly high, and they were rugged with many a hand held compared to the towers at Redmont that he had scaled from time to time.

Although his hip and his ribs didn't like this- he had to assume they were bruised at least and he suspected they might be cracked- and his cuts weren't pleased either, he felt he simply had no choice once he started to get to the top. So he raced up as quickly as he could, tearing more bloody scrapes on his knees and elbows and ripping a fingernail. Will grasped the edge of the roof- the building he'd chosen was one of the ones with a flat stone roof- and rolled onto it, pressing his stomach and nose to the stone.

People never look up. The saying that had got him through his years at the ward, a saying that Halt had enforced during training. He felt unbearably vulnerable, sightless and lying as he was. Below him, he heard grunts and hoped he interpreted them right as sounding puzzled. He prayed. His dart up the building had only taken seconds. In fact, he suspected it was momentum that had carried him up more than his own strength. Will tried to focus and listen to what was going on over his erratic heartbeat.

He could smell the smoke now. Tingly in the air, a warm smell, that reminded him of the hearth and autumn evenings and the glow of Redmont in the sunset. His palms were sweaty and it was tempting to wipe them on his breeches. No wargal hurtled over the edge of the roof and gradually his breathing slowed, settling from the panic.

Will waited until the drum of wargal footsteps was distant. He was very close to remaining in a slump. To lie there and block his thoughts was a welcome prospect. Yet it could not be done. He inched up, pushing with his arms, until he could twist his legs around without the pain in his hip becoming excruciating. Halt was down there, in one of the streets. Will crawled to the edge of the building. He didn't dare stand upright. He couldn't see Halt anymore. That gave an unreasonable sense of loss, as if he was alone, when really his mentor couldn't be far away.

A few more wargals jogged down the street he was on in pursuit of Will. One of them lifted its nose into the air. The skin around the wet, black nose wrinkled as it sniffed hard. Then it began peering around him. Will held his breath as he realised the wargal had smelt him. It appeared puzzled that it could not see him. The other few wargals around it paused and, seeming to calm down, followed its lead and took deep revealing whiffs.

The first to use its wits had a sudden brainwave. It strode to one of the houses and thrust the door open. That happened to be the house Will was on top of, and the apprentice couldn't think, couldn't move, certain that he would be spotted at any moment. The framwork shuddered against his chest as the wargal slammed the door shut. They checked the other houses too, brows furrowed, concentrating on not losing the smell.

Will bit the inside of his cheek so hard it srted to bleed. One of the wargals emitted a soft growl, at odds with their usual noises. It looked up and Will saw yellowed eyes that shone with greed fix on him. The lips drew back in a snarl. It grunted, pointed, and the other wargals turned to Will as well. The apprentice sucked in a breath, yet it must have been that not much air reached him for he was lightheaded. His hands shook against the roof. He gathered his feet under him to run- run where?- maybe he could jump across to the next building- or drop down the other side of this one- but he was battered and he didn't know how much his body could take. Then, as he panicked and tried to think through the fog that had descended on his mind, more arrows fired from the shadows and took out the wargals now at the base of the house.

"Halt!" Will couldn't supress the cry. Again, he had been saved. He saw his mentor emerge from the shadows and scurried to the edge of the building, overcome with relief for the second time in only a few minutes. There weren't anymore wargals in their street, so he disregarded his earlier caution and slipped down the side of the building to meet the ranger. As his feet touched the ground, he staggered. Instantly, there was an iron grip holding him up.

"Apprentices," Halt muttered under his breath as he checked the boy's wounds. "They just can't stop finding trouble." Which wasn't entirely fair, Will thought, seeing as Halt was the one to be captured first. He didn't say this aloud. He was far too relieved and since Halt seemed to be in relatively good condition, he was probably entitled to it.

"That's my bow," Will said in a daze. He swallowed, eyes flicking down and up the street. Tears prickled at the corners of his vision. They seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere, and he couldn't stop a couple from dribbling down his cheeks.

"None of that," Halt said curtly, giving his shoulders a shake. He spared an anxious glance over his shoulder. "Grab one of those swords to defend youself with," he said, narrowing his eyes at the smoke curling from the houses.

"That's _my_ bow," Will repeated, this time laying stress on his possession of it. He scrubbed his eyes to removed the traces of weakness, already moving to the bodies of the wargals. Their glassy eyes peered up at him and his fingers brushed against their coarse fur. A feeling of revulsion rose within him and he struggled to smile to show he wasn't really demanding the bow, to show he was brave. It was a weak smile that trembled.

"You're _my_ apprentice," Halt said. "You'll follow _my_ orders." He cast another glance at the fire. What was the cause of it, Will wondered? It couldn't have been Gilan because the elf was in the hills, feverish and tending to his foot.

Will swallowed and moved aside the cooling wargal body to get the nearest sword. The weapon was half pinned under the beast. There was a gurgle and he realised one of the wargals wasn't quite dead. Blood pooled from its mouth and there was some presence in its eyes as it watched him. He shivered. Grabbed the sword and moved back, trying to forget the feel of fur against his hands, forget the ferocious gleam in even a dying wargal's gaze.

"Go one street over and stay there," Halt instructed. "Use the sword to defend yourself with. I'd give you your bow but I need it." Again, Will noted that his mentor was viewing the fire in concern. "In any event, I think the wargals are distracted enough that they won't see you if you hide. And you're good at hiding." That was not complimentary had it come from Horace back in the ward, but from Halt it sounded like something to be proud of.

"I can't fight with a sword," Will admitted. The lump of steel hung from his hand, heavy and uncoordinated.

"It'll have to do. It's not that much bigger than your saxe, just imagine you're using that." Halt didn't mention that close quarter knife work was Will's worst skill and Will didn't bring it up, although the tears were starting to blur his vision again. "Get going. Watch your back. Stay safe."

"But- where are you going?" Will asked with a pleading note to his voice.

"Not far from here," Halt said elusively. "Now hide."

"But-" Will wanted to ask why he couldn't come with his mentor. Surely by Halt's side was the safest place to be. The stern expression his mentor wore stopped him and with some reluctance, he crossed to the parrallel street. A glance over his shoulder revealed that Halt watched him for a moment before turning and sprinting towards the fire.

Will wedged himself between two buildings, the sword extended before him. He waited. At first he was keyed up, tense, expecting something to go wrong. Then his eyes began to droop which really was ridiculous in the current situation. He suddenly struggled to stay awake. His shoulders sagged against the wall. It was like his body had just quite on didn't think he'd be able to fight if a wargal showed up now.

It was only then that he remember Glendyss. Guilt slithered through his veins- after all Glendyss had been the one to help him mine and tell him about the Raygem and the wargals. Will knew he couldn't abandon the feeble old man. The celtican couldn't defend himself. He needed Will. And there was no use in ranger training if he was going to ignore those in need. That wasn't how Halt or Gilan did things and it wasn't how he'd do it either. To ignore Glendyss now would be a dark _werewolf _sort of thing to do.

So he pressed his hand against the cold stone and pushed himself up. His knees trembled; the sword pulled at his arm, foreign and unfamiliar. No fear, Will reminded himself. But even when he blocked it from his mind as best he could, his body still felt it. He shivered and wobbled and there was a fluttery sensation in his stomach. Knights in glittering armour saving lives was a childhood dream: Will knew now that saving lives was nothing like that. It was black and frightening and he wished more than anything that it'd all be over. He wanted to go home.

There was no more time to think of home as he crept down the streets to where the wargals had gathered. Most of them had already passed by towards the fire. He saw a few had been trampled by their comrades. They must have fallen in the commotion and been stepped on. Their blood ran rivers down the cracks in the stone. Strangely, the weight of the sword started to feel more comforting. He was grateful to have it with him.

He peeked around the side of a building. The clearing was mostly deserted. There was the podium, but the stone was no longer on it. Two wargals were pushing the last of the carts loaded with raygem towards the castle. Of more importance to Will, he saw Glendyss, lying close to the podium. At first he thought the celtican was a pile of rags and when he realised, he sucked in a horrified breath. He gave the wargals time to put more distance between them, then scampered light-footed over the rock to crouch beside the celtican.

He noted the blood pooled under the ribcage and the torn shirt with a hollow feeling inside. Glendyss's lashes fluttered, and he squinted against the sun. His cracked lips were slightly parted, shallow breath sliding between them. He lifted a hand and Will took it.

"Light," Glendyss croaked. "Don't...die."

"You won't _die_," Will said, pleaded, squeezing the hand for he'd never before had a man die in front of him before like this, holding his hand, and the very thought of it made him feel strange inside. Besides, Glendyss had been everything a friend could be down in the mines.

"Please," Glendyss breathed. "Will. Take me underground. Take me to the Out-of-Light"

"I- I can't," Will shook his head. He didn't like the shrunken, desperate, dying gaze that fixed on him. He glanced around, aware that they were in the open. But when he tried to move away, Glendyss clenched his hand- not a hard clamp and his skin was slippery with sweat; still Will found it couldn't be moral to abandon the man.

"Out-of-light," Glendyss said again. Will bit his lip. He couldn't tell what had made the wound on Glendyss's stomach. Maybe a wargal spear?

"Glendyss, the mines are too far away," he insisted. There was no reason in those fever-splashed eyes.

"Please. Underground. There is not-mine here. Tunnels. Underground." He wheezed and panted. "Will not. Die in. Light." The apprentice ranger was struck by the realisation that Glendyss was alive through sheer force of mental power, that if he took him into the tunnels he would die- Will would have killed him. Then he wondered: tunnels?

Yet if he did not take him into the tunnels, Glendyss would die anyway- it would be foolish to assume otherwise with that rich blood covering his torso- and he would do so fighting every step of the way. He would have no peace. Still, it was absurd to risk getting into these tunnels just to keep Glendyss out of the sunlight. He had to move and get into shelter. Will stood up. But he knew he'd never be able to erase Glendyss's face from his mind if he didn't do this. And the wargals were searching for him amongst the buildings, he realised. They'd lose interest in the fire, whatever had caused it, soon enough. They'd never think to find the apprentice ranger in their own tunnels. He couldn't be in any more risk there than he was now.

Will stepped away; stopped. He could not turn his back on Glendyss. He could not do it. He did not wish his father to look down on him and see that. So he stooped beside the man again. "Glendyss," he said urgently. "How do I get you to those tunnels? Is it safe?"

"Yes," Glendyss breathed, though it sounded more of relief than assurance of the safety. "Been there. Early on." He took a shuddering gasp. "Underground. Please."

"Yes, but how do I get there?" Will pressed.

"Stairs. Other side of castle. By the gorge." That would have to be enough. Will nodded briefly and hooked his arms under the celtican, trying not to jostle him around too much. Glendyss made a small noise of pain and his face creased in agony.

"Sorry," Will muttered. He set off at a brisk walk parallel to the castle. Glendyss was all skin and bones. To the tired boy he weighed a tonne. His legs were leaden. Boots scuffed on the rock. He still clutched the sword in one hand, pointing outwards, while his arms clutched Glendyss.

They made it over the open ground. Will skirted towards the castle. He was thankful for Halt whipping him into shape. Otherwise he would have collapsed and properly collapsed too, fallen to the ground, faceplanted; been unable to get up again.

As it was, he made it to the gorge. It was a way back from the castle, a split in the rock that wasn't too deep. Nothing like the fissure. He saw two wargals emerge from the cavernous moth of a cave in the gorge. Will froze for a second. He burst into action, sprinting for cover by an outcrop of rock. He clamped a hand over Glendyss's mouth when the celtican started to moan. His back hit the rock. He hardly dared to breath. Will clutched Glendyss to him like a ragdoll. Their straving, bony ribs rubbed against each other.

God, Will thought and never had he hoped so desperately that there was one. He tightened his hand across Glendyss's mouth, his fingers splayed over the sharp jawbone, watching the fragile bones. If Halt had known he was going to run off, he was sure his mentor would have returned the bow. In any event, he had the strangest sensation that he didn't want to die while Halt had his recurve- it wasn't that he'd blame Halt exactly, or that he thought Halt would blame himself, but there'd forever be a kind of unfinished business between them, hovering in the air. Or maybe it was his youth. He was not ready to die. Alyss. She'd never know he was a werewolf. Yes, if he died now, he'd slip into limbo, waiting for nothing, a half state of being.

Glendyss trembled against him. They were as close as two beings could be- friends- sharing this fear and potential death- but distant as well. They had not known each other in 'real life'. In the life outside the mountains. Will realised he could forget about dying: this place, here, Morgarath's domain, was limbo.

He dared to crane around the rocks. The wargals had propped up a ladder to climb up the side of the gorge- he saw one lifting it free of the edge and folding it up. Foldable ladders: clever, like the foldable buckets Halt had introduced him to. He wondered if rangers had foldable ladders. He wondered if it was fear giving him these irrelevent, pesky thoughts, or if the mind simply had to be thinking something at all points of the day. The other wargal, the one without the ladder, started to sniff the air, head raised, nose quivering, like the wargals in the street had. Those ones had been confused when they couldn't immediately locate him, despite his scent lingering nearby. Will decided against waiting around. He pushed himself up, using the rock as a brace since Glendyss put off his balance. Crouched as low as he could with the celtican in his arms, he staggered forward, sticking behind the line of rocks.

The gorge had a reasonably steep descent. Before he could back out, Will sat on his bum and slid down the rocks. He didn't know what qualified as a mistake in this situation, but his cut and torn back scraped against the rocks and he almost screamed. As his feet touched the bottom, his head stopped spinning. Swollen and bleeding was his lip where he'd bitten it to prevent the agonised scream from escaping.

He was just in time. He saw the wargals above him, the bristling ears just visible over the rocks, as they checked the rock he'd hidden behind. Will wouldn't allow his body to rest yet, even though every fibre of it yearned for sleep. He hurried with Glendyss towards the cave opening. It crossed his mind again that he was crazy.

"Are you sure these tunnels are safe?" he whispered as he carried the celtican towards the dark opening. But Glendyss had glazed eyes and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Before he managed to come up with any answer, they had already plunged into darkness.

Will almost fell down the stairs. He didn't see them and tripped. Glendyss slipped from his grasp. He reached out, seized the man, and the two of them tumbled gracelessly until Will managed to still his spinning head and bring them to a stop with his legs outstretched. If he allowed time to quit he probably would, so Will allowed nothing. He struggled to his feet and plodded down the staircase. It seemed to lead deep into the heart of the mountains. Glendyss clawed at his shoulder, moaning softly.

"Out-of-light. _Yes. _Here...home. Of earth. Rock." He was mumbling to himself, satisifed. There was more that he said, so slurred and faint that Will could not make it out.

Near the bottom of the staircase, a circle of firelight became visible, shining a little pool of light around a circle of rock and a low ceiling. For no particular reason, Will found that the sight of it calmed him. Except whenhe glanced down and saw the dark shadows that crept over Glendyss's tortured face, then he wasn't so grateful for the light. He stumbled down the last of the stairs.

As he got closer, he saw that the firelight came from a torch bracket on the wall, almost burnt to coals but still emitting a soft glow. Then he noted what the light reflected off on the floor of the cave. He had not been able to see it from the staircase. On even ground, he saw it piled up along the walls, leading deeper in. Silver. Glittering piles of untarnished silver.

"Glendyss," Will gasped. "What use has Morgarath for silver? Or is it a special type of gem, like raygem and the moongem?"

"No," Glendyss breathed. "Silver. Pu' me down and...get out of here. Run." Something flashed in his eyes. Fear, not for himself, for Will.

The apprentice gently set the miner down. His curiosity persisted. "Glendyss- how did you know about this tunnel? What's the silver for?"

Glendyss was fading. His eyes closed, his lips turned in a slight smile. Will lunged forward, suddenly just as desperate to keep Glendyss with him as he was to find answers. He thought- have I really done this? I've taken a man to die? Was it nobler to have insisted that Glendyss would live? But Will was no fool. They had no healers nearby. The celtican had held on with a tremendous effort, but there was no certain future of escape. Will could not imagine leaving the mountains any time soon. They seemed around him, inside him, dominating the world- he could scarcely remember life before them.

He shook the miner's shoulders roughly. "Glendyss," he said again.

Glendyss sighed. Will repeated his questions. "Here- polish silver- carry more in- sometimes," he took a ragged breath. "Run. Leave," and then, "sorry." The last word was less than a whisper, so quiet that Will hardly heard it.

That was when he slipped away for good- he gurgled and whined and then he was gone.

And that was when the screaming started.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Will's head snapped up. It was a high-pitched, keening scream. That was not the cry of a human. The hairs at the back of his neck stiffened. He paused to peer into the gloom, the silver shimmers at the edge of his vision.

He leant down and closed Glendyss's eyes. It seemed the right thing to do. Then he spun on his heel, rising as he did and lunging for stairwell. He moved too fast; his cracked hipbone seemed to twist and his ribs writhed inside him. Pain stabbed through him. Panic too. His vision blurred and he crumpled to the ground. The screaming was louder and he had the horrible sensation of a great shuffling monster just behind him. Will couldn't help a whip of his head over his shoulder.

Through his teary vision, he saw a monster step into the light. It resembled an ape, or a bear perhaps, bulky and thick-muscled with forearms that reached its knees and short, powerful legs. The matted hide flexed as it lumbered towards him, sniffing, gaze switching between him and Glendyss's prone form.

For the second time, his body failed him. His legs were weak and trembling and suddenly, he couldn't stop his tears that had started from pain, and now fell for so much more. The monster filtered and wavered in front of him like looking at a pond. Will couldn't control his searing helplessness. No way could he get up all those stairs. He was too tired. Simply too exhausted to fight anymore.

He hooked his elbow on the lowest stair. Redmont. He needed to go home. He had to see Alyss and Horace; Jenny and George; Halt and Gilan; Baron Arald, Sir Rodney, Lady Pauline, Maria. The names rolled through his mind. They strengthened him- he could not die here.

The ape-monster paced towards him. Will slithered up the stairs on his hands and knees- he still did not trust his legs. As he moved, the adreneline and blood came back- Redmont left him- and he thought only survive survive survive. That was the best way to be, for now. He got his feet under him and started running up the stairs, fighting the pain in his hip and ribs and back because none of that would kill him; it was the monster that would end his life.

He heard the ape-monster speed up after him. Will tried to pick up the pace, stumbled, and found himself flat on his face on the stairs. He felt the breath of the monster just behind him. No use in getting up and running. He'd be killed in seconds. Instead he pushed back with his wrists so that he slid down the staircase on his front. Will howled as his rib knocked against the edge of a step. He couldn't breath between the pain and the sobs and the shaking.

The ape-monster passed over him, as he'd hoped. It was too late registering his change of tactic and in taking the steps two at a time, it missed him. Its heavy paws missed Will's head by centimetres. He sat up and slid down the stairs, putting the pressure on his hip this time instead, which was agony as well. He didn't think his body could take much more. Surely, soon, he'd simply black out. He'd almost welcome it.

His boots hit the flat ground. Back into the torchlight. He shouldn't have looked up then and seen the ape-monster hurtling down the stairs towards him because that was even more terrifying. There was only one way to run now. Deeper into the cave. Will almost tripped over Glendyss's body. He thought last moment to grab the torch- the only thing worse than running into the cave would be running into it blind- while still holding his short sword with his other hand.

In desperation to put more distance between himself and the ape-monster, he hurled silver at it. A silver cup bounced off its nose. It paused and stared him down. Will wasn't about to waste any advantage. He left it to hesitate and ran. How long would the light of the torch last? As he questioned himself, he realised it was irrelevent. If he didn't get out of here soon, there was no way he'd live.

At least the tears had stopped. They'd been shocked into freezing in place. He clutched the torch for dear life. It shook, the shadows twisting like wraiths at a balldance on the walls and floor. The earsplitting scream of the ape-monster filled the tunnel- no wonder it was getting hard to breath. He saw a turnoff and ignored it, kept on going straight.

The piles of silver built up as he went deeper in. Will stumbled over a nugget. The ape-monster was almost upon him. Everytime he turned, it met his eyes, almost expectantly, as if waiting for him to surrender, and that gave Will a few centimetres. He whipped his head around often for this reason, and sometimes slashed with his sword too, but the ape-monster stopped with that after the first five times. And on the sixth, his ankle twisted while he glanced around and he fell onto a pile of silver nuggets. Will cried out, losing his grip on the torch and the sword. It was the loss of light that made him grope for the torch first, sighting the red burn of a low flame on the silver.

"Help!" he called, just in case anyone could hear. He twisted around. The ape-monster was almost upon him. He scrabbled for his sword and his fingers closed over the hilt. He swiped it at the ape-monster's face and a cut opened up on its forhead. Blood gushed to its eyes. It shook its head- it was blinded by the blood Will realised. Furious, it lashed out, connecting with his arm. The impact jarred right to his shoulder and the short sword skittered away, lost to him. No use in retrieving it. He needed to put distance between himself and the ape-monster while it was blinded.

He pushed through the silver- silver cups, silver plates, silver boxes, silver orbs. His fingers trailed along the wall, the torch in his other hand. And then he realised, with a sinking feeling that it was a dead end. He was trapped. The ape-monster rubbed at its face. Will thought to slip past it. He crept around it, but everytime he touched an item of silver, it clinked against another. His hand on the wall brushed against something sharp. He quickly drew it back. In the dying light of the torch he hadn't before noticed the bracket fixed to the wall. But this bracket had no torch on it- rather it had a fairly ordinary hunk of stone. The moongem he recognised- mostly from context for what else could it be? He came to the swift conclusion that the ape-monster was guarding the stone while it was not in use.

Will seized the stone. It was warm to the touch and rough like sandpaper. He shoved it into his pocket. But the ape-monster had blinked the blood from its eyes and it had only been a superficial wound, not enough to stop it for long. And now it lunged at Will. Bright gleaming eyes fixed on his. Its lips drew back in a deafening scream.

A soundless terror burst from Will; his lips were apart, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. That scream was all around him. His cut back hit the rock wall, and the pain was somehow barely noticable over the clarity that he was about to die. There was nothing to do except thrust the torch, his last weapon, out in front of him.

A flicker of hesitation crossed the ape-monster's face. Its shoulders tensed as it tried to slow, but momentum kept it skidding towards Will. The tip of the torch touched the wazy fur over its chest. A bright flash blinded the apprentice. The smell of singed hair. He coughed and gagged. Alive; dead; he wasn't sure. Something cold touched his elbows and he realised he'd fallen over. The screaming crashed like waves against the shore.

Will's vision came back to him. First he saw the rock. Then he rolled onto one arm and saw the ape-monster aflame, screaming, beating at its chest as the fire engulfed it. It ran towards the exit. Then veered down into another tunnel. Will leaned against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his knees, as a few stray tears dribbled down his cheeks, shivering. The ape-monster continued to scream. It returned, completely covered in bright flame that lit up the cave in light that dazzled Will's eyes. Its legs collapsed beneath it. Slowly, it crumpled to the ground and the screaming faded. It twitched. A bon fire under the earth. A funeral pyre. He wondered, strangely, how Glendyss felt about such things, but he didn't have the energy to drag the celtican to the fire even if he thought the miner would want to be cremated. It didn't seem appropriate anyway.

He dug his nails into his breeches, a hiss escaping him. He was so sick of his injuries _hurting _and he was ready to fall into a deep sleep. Yet he felt even if he were tucked up in a quilt on a matress, he would not be able to descend past a restless doze. Will closed his eyes, the burning fire red against his eyelids. He opened them, squinted against the flame. Then he leaned over and retched. When he recovered himself, he forced himself to stand.

It was inconceivable that he had to somehow summon even more energy. For days he'd had hardly any sleep, hardly any food or water, now he was injured- where was there to draw energy from? But he made himself get up and start plodding towards the exit. One more effort, he told himself, just one more, even though his mind niggled at him: don't be ridiculous, Will, it told him, there's a lot more than one and it might never end for as long as you live which in that case wouldn't be very long.

Through a haze, he reasoned that the ape-monsters screams would have drawn wargals, or centaurs, or something bad. Will found that despite that, he really couldn't manage more than a power walk out of the tunnels, and he didn't bother stepping over the ape-monster to find the sword: what good would a sword do him against more than one wargal anyway? He paused at the conjuction, a horrible thought: what if I take the wrong turn? He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and remembered he'd only run in a straight line. So he kept on straight until the blaze of the ape-monster's flame was out of sight and he stepped over Glendyss's body and climbed the stairs wearily.

The glare of the sun was excruciating when he left the cave. He screwed up his face. Yelling, chanting, but it seemed distant. It wasn't, he realised seconds later. Dozens of wargals were streaming down the side of the gorge, pointing at him. As he'd predicted, they'd been attracted by the screams. Will tensed to run, glancing around frantically for the best escape route.

A hiss and a thrum and grey shafted arrows lodged in the head of the two nearest wargals. Will squinted against the sun. Two centaurs crested the edge of the gorge, galloping towards him. He couldn't outrun them. He'd have to scurry back into the tunnels and take his chances there.

"Will!" Halt's voice, yelling at him. He looked again and saw that his mentor was astride the centaur. Will's mouth dropped open as his tired mind tried to process this new development. Halt had the bow in his hands of course; it was his knees keeping him on the centaur's back. And the centaur had a rope around his neck, the other end of which looped around Halt's wrist so that if the ranger fell off, the centaur would be strangled.

The other centaur had Gilan seated upon it. The fire elf held a short sword to its neck, clinging to its shoulders with his other arm. His foot hovered in the air and though the strain was evident between his brows, he managed a grin.

"Will," Halt said again. He reached out a hand. Will held his arms up as the centaur cantered past. He remembered last second he was still holding the torch and released it, just as Halt gripped his wrist and pulled him onto the back of the centaur. He cried out as his injuries were jostled. Halt's stern and anxious features flashed into his vision. An iron arm wrapped around his waist, holding him in place. Bouncing up and down was agony on his hipbone.

"I told you to stay put," Halt growled in his ear. Then to the centaur: "Move it! Gallop or I'll use this nice little bow on you." The centaur tossed a disdainful look over his shoulder but picked up the pace, as did Gilan's. They rocketed over the gorge. The wargals leaped back in awe of the half-horses.

The wargals in town were wary of the centaurs too. It was lucky because Will figured his mentor could only have a few arrows left. But they flew over the ground, perhaps not as fast as Tug could run, though certainly respectable. Will found himself sagging into his mentor. As they passed the town where much of the timberworks and thatchings were alight and followed the open ground, Halt shook him.

"Sit up Will," he mkuttered, not unkindly. "If I need to use the bow, I can't with you leaning on me." With a great effort, Will sat upright. He wound his fists into the back of the centaur's shirt. The centaur rolled his shoulders in an effort to dislodge his grip and Halt yanked the rope. None of the rangers had any sympathy as the centaur's head was snapped back and he struggled for breath. He flapped his arms. Halt eased the pressure on the rope.

"Alright," the centaur gasped. "I'll be good. But I'm warning you. You'll only get yourselves killed."

"We'll see," Halt said grimly. "If I'm killed," he tugged lightly on the rope, "then you'll be killed too." The centaur snorted. "I'll make sure of it," Halt warned. "The first thing I'll do if the wargals or another centaur catches me is shoot you." Not so good for the centaur perhaps, but Will definitely felt better now.

The ruins came into view, and the mines. It reminded Will of Glendyss and he had a pang of something that was not quite guilt; regret maybe- he wasn't sure how to identify the emotion. Then Gilan was adressing him.

"I saw you go in," he said. "Do you know the way around?"

"Not everywhere," Will said uncertainly.

"The way to the edge of the fissure?" Halt asked urgently.

"No," Will replied. "But there weren't many passages."

Halt ordered the centaur into the mines. Gilan's centaur fell in behind them. They ran straight in, barroling past the guard wargals. Even down here, the wargals were whipped into a frenzy. It must have been Morgarath's presence- his lingering rage in the air that they could feel in their telepathy. Still, they were reluctant to get too close to the centaurs.

"That fire-" Will began as they charged down the passageways.

"The least I could do was offer a distraction," Gilan said. "We knew something was going on and we suspected it was to do with you." Again he grinned, for Will's benefit, though there was a hazy sort of illness in his eyes.

"Down there is the mine where I was," Will realised aloud. He pointed and Halt ordered the centaurs thatway. The poor, haggard celticans were at work. Halt yelled at them. "Lead us to the fissure," he said. "This is the time to rebel. The only time you'll get! While we have the momentum!" For a moment, Will thought this would do nothing. The scared men paused in hacking at the walls of the rock. The wargals on guard were alarmed by the centaur that Gilan forced to charge him. It was the sight of them afraid that did it- the celticans poured through the mine shafts. Halt and Gilan urged the centaurs after them.

It was livelier than the mines had ever been, probably. The noises of shouts and hoofbeats filled the air. Unfortunately, the celticans didn't have the safety of the centaurs. Two of them were cut down before Halt shot the guards. A third was trampled under Gilan's centaur.

"You told me to run. I can't help it in this chaos," the centaur sneered. Gilan frowned, thin lipped, and pressed the sword hard enough to draw blood into the centaur's neck. For the most part, the mines were lacking in wargal forces compared to the town and with the centaurs bringing up the rear, the reinforcements were hesitant to get close.

Then sunlight appeared and they flowed out of the mines to the ledge by the fissure. Will sucked in a breath. From here, he could see the rope bridge that he'd looked at from the other side, and the trees beyond which he'd met Crowley. The miners made their way over the bridge. They stopped on the other side, as if suddenly uncertain.

"Stop," Halt said to the centaurs. "Will, dismount." He helped Will off. The apprentice staggered as he hit the ground. At his mentor's urging, he crossed the bridge, with a few glances behind him. Halt dismounted and the rope meant the centaur bent double, choking. Halt flicked an arrow out of the quiver and deftly cut the rope with the broadhead, then nocked it ready to shoot.

"Don't try anything," he warned. He remained alert as Gilan dismounted, landing awkwardly on one foot. He hopped over to Halt and leaned on his shoulder.

"Off with you," Halt barked. "Go back to your mountains."

The centaurs hesitated. The broadheaded arrows gleamed and with a small amount of reluctance, they retreated into the mines. Will suspected they hadn't gone far away and it appeared Halt and Gilan shared his concerns for they crossed the bridge quickly together. Then Halt took the sword off Gilan and cut the ropes and the bridge fell into the fissure. Good timing too. Just then, three tentative wargals appeared. They stared and Will stared back at them, the huge natural gap seperating them.

"My comrades and I are too weary to escort you home," Halt said to the miners. "Stick together and be careful. I would advise you to go to the celtican capital, where there's some protection." Then he raised his eyebrows at his fellow rangers and shook his head, an exhausted movement. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

There was a weight in Will's pocket and he remembered suddenly the moongem. "Halt!" he said. He pulled it out, turning the regular looking rock over in his palm. Halt and Gilan stared at it with peircing, analysing eyes.

"That's the stone," Halt declared. Gently, he took it from his apprentice's hands. "We'll have to discuss everything later. A long discussion I should think." The celticans were starting to head off towards the capital. Whether they'd make it or simply sink from exhaustion, the rangers didn't know. Halt made a mental note to ask Crowley to check on them later. "Will you allow me?"

Will nodded. Halt tossed the moongem up and down in his hand a few times, then turned and lobbed it into the fissure. It sailed above their heads, then arced down, disappearing into the untouchable depths. "They'll never get it back," he said, sounding quite satisfied by that simple fact.

The horses chose that moment to show up, responding to Halt's whistle. Will wrapped his arms around his pony's neck as Tug nuzzled into his shoulder. '_What have you been up to without me?'_ He laughed and kissed the soft nose. When they got back to Redmont, he promised Tug a billion apples. Beside him, Gilan and Halt had their own secret exchanges with their steeds. Then they all mounted, with Will gritting his teeth at the pain in his hip, and set off at a gallop, until the Mountains of Rain and Night were obscured from view by orange and red autumn trees.


	33. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Halt made no noise as he slipped into the room. It had not been the longest without her as far as time went, but Morgarath's domain had a way of sucking the time away, until it felt like he'd been gone for years and years. So when he padded across the rug, he could not help himself thinking that this delicate beautiful room was untouched by the outside world.

The first night back from a mission was always a restless one, made more so tonight by his vampire needs. When he found he could not sleep, Halt was compelled by an invisible force to come here. He eased her bedroom door open. Her silken hair was fanned out over her pillow, her lashes wickedly long and dark against her pale skin. He stepped over to her, behind her, and pushed her hair out the way to find the best vein on her neck.

"Crowley told me," Pauline said. He stopped; a chilling shock settled over him. Halt withdrew his hand and folded it with the other. He closed his eyes briefly. What to say now? He supposed this could hardly be normal behaviour for a ranger and he struggled to think of a proffessional reason he was hovering over her in the night. And then what she'd really said hit him, not the simple fact that she was awake, _what she'd said._ Crowley?

"Is that so?" he said cautiously. He could not tell how much Crowley had given away. Maybe the idiot corps commandant had told her Halt was in love with her, not the other thing. Which wasn't much better, he thought as he realised what she might think of him in her room in the dead of night in that case.

In a slow, deliberate movement, Pauline raised herself onto her elbows, gazing at him thoughtfully. She brushed her hair over one shoulder. His eyes were drawn to the exposed vein there. "Is it blood you need?" she asked, and she didn't seem disgusted by the question.

Halt took a deep breath. The bed dipped under him as he perched on the edge. Without meeting her eyes, he said, "you should not offer blood to a vampire."

"I should not," Pauline agreed. "But if it's you, then I will." She pinched her blanket, twisting it between her fingers. "Haven't you already been taking it?" He stiffened. She found his hand and took it, turning it over, tracing the veins on his palm. "If it's you," she said again, "I don't mind."

He watched her with dark eyes. "You would give blood willingly to a vampire?" He couldn't understand the peculiar chuckle she gives him.

"Halt." She said his name like an inside joke, like a secret. "I would give you my heart."

…...

A thin spiral of smoke lingered above the ranger cabin, the scent of coffee in the air. Will nursed his cup, blowing on it to cool it. He had bandages covering all his cuts, and his cracked bones were less painful now- though he hadn't been able to ride since they'd returned. It was great to be clean and comfortable again.

And among friends of course. Gilan sat on the veranda beside him, his bandaged foot stretched out in front of him. Until it healed, he was staying in Redmont. He'd been spending some time with Jenny, Will had heard tell, and he regarded the elf with a smile. But there were times too when he noticed Gilan rather aggravated. He'd seen the rangers argueing when Gilan wanted to start taking on more responsibility around the fief while his foot healed and Halt snapped at him that if he didn't settle down and stop fussing it'd never heal and then where would he be? Around the campfire on the trip home, Gilan had told Will that there was a real possibility his foot would never heal fully. His eyes had been very sad when he said that.

Alyss was on the veranda too on this fine evening. She'd thrown off all her annoyance towards him when she heard the perils he'd lives through and she'd been sympathetic towards his injuries. When Lady Pauline gave her time off, she kept him company as he recovered. Mysteriously, Halt also disappeared on these hours off to deal with urgent business up at the castle and Will hadn't picked up on this until Alyss pointed it out.

"Jason Barre's brew is the best," Gilan said with a sigh, sipping at the coffee. "I missed this."

Horace, another companion of the evening's get-together, shook his head. "I can't believe you did all that while I've just been doing drill after drill at the battleschool."

Will had been having trouble getting his head around it all as well. At night, he saw Glendyss and the other miners, and the rocks and wargals and the ape-beast, which he'd since found out was a kalkara. Apparently Morgarath paid them silver and they did his bidding. Halt hadn't seen fit to mention it because Sir David, Gilan's father, had killed two of them in the past.

"It's how he earnt his way into the royal battlemaster position," Gilan had added in here. "As you should know, most magical creatures aren't trusted, certainly not enough for positions like that. Kalkara have a weakness to fire which made it quite handy for a fire elf like my dad. After he killed them, no one disputed whether or not the king should promote him."

"We weren't aware there were any more than two," Halt had said. "Our intelligence network never had any reason to expect there were more. Otherwise I would have told you about them." He had sounded almost apologetic. Then he'd continued with a question. "How did you avoid its stare?"

Gilan watched him expectantly too. Will stared at them blankly. "It's stare?"

"The gaze of a kalkara renders the one it looks at completely immobile with fear," Halt had explained. "It can't be that you never looked at its face and felt its pull."

Will had shrugged. "I was terrified as it was. I suppose I was just so afraid I didn't noticed."

"Believe me, you'd notice," Halt said. "This reminds me of the mermaid. Her charms didn't work on you either. I wonder..." he'd let the thought trail off.

The other part of this discussion that stuck in Will's mind was when he told them on scrambling up the building, and carrying Glendyss. Halt said it was possible he had more resiliance and strength because of his lyncanthropy, but he liked to believe it was willpower. Gilan let out an immature snort of amusement at this. They'd talked about the raygem and moongem too and how the luscentanians in the far north knew more about such matters.

Will was roused from his musing by soft footsteps on the porch. Halt joined them, settling between his two apprentices. He had his own cup of coffee with him and stared thoughtfully at the woods for a moment before turning abrubtly to Will.

"I have something for you," he said. He fumbled inside his jerkin and produced a chain with a bronze oakleaf. Gilan was beaming. "This is yours."

"Mine," Will repeated. He held out his palm and the oakleaf was dropped into it. It was warm and he curled his fingers over it. "What is it?"

"It's the rangers symbol. That's the apprentice colour. When you graduate, you'll receive a silver one." Halt and Gilan both showed him theirs. He'd seen the glimmers of silver around their necks before, but he'd never before known what it meant

"Thank you," he said. Will grinned as Alyss did up the clasp for him. The metal fell against his skin. It felt natural: _right, _as if he belonged to something. Which, he realised as his grin widened, he did.

"I'm proud," Alyss said, kissing him on the cheek. The tips of his ears flushed crimson. It didn't help when Horace and Gilan took it upon themselves to start clapping and cheering like buffoons. He mimed a swing at Horace and the young knight laughed at him.

"You deserve it," Halt said simply, not one to take part in the boisterous mucking about. "Good job." Will flushed, delighted. He started to laugh and then he couldn't stop. So he got up and chased Horace around for a bit, tussling as boys did and then sat back down, beaming at the sunset.

There would be a war soon- he could hear the clangs of steel at the battleschool and army as they prepared for it, carried faintly on the wind. Morgarath was fuming in his kingdom. Even now, that made him shiver. Tommorrow was the full moon and he'd be transforming- Alyss still didn't know about that- and perhaps people saw him in the same way he saw the wargals and the kalkara; bloodthirsty terrible monsters. The True Guard was still out there, trying to kill all magical creatures and as Halt says 'generally being a pain to anyone sensible.'

For now, Will was content in the warmth of the evening sun. He turned to his mentor and said, "there's nothing I'd rather be than a ranger."

The End

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed and read this story. Especially those of you who reviewed almost every chapter: you know who you are.**

**Kisses, hugs and cookies for you all! And for everyone who read this far: thank you for sticking with me. **

**This isn't really the end though. I will be uploading a sequel at some stage, so if you want to be an epic person and stick with me for a while longer, that'd be amazing. I haven't finished playing around with werewolf Will and vampire Halt yet. They're too fun to fiddle with ;)**

**The next one will be about the war with Morgarath, some stuff about Halt and hibernia, and Cassie will be in it. **


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